


Socially Acceptable Tackling (and how to get back up again)

by avtorSola, davidoodles (avtorSola)



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Alternate Universe - College/University, Background Poly, Dating, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gon plays rugby, Gymnast!Killua, Gymnastics, I REPEAT - NOT A SLOWBURN. I know im shocked too, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Innuendo, Killua's a gymnast THEN plays rugby, M/M, NOT a slowburn, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rugby, Rugby!Gon, Rugby!Killua, Sexual Humor, Slow To Update, Sports, ask to tag!, hxh big bang 2020, hxhbb, hxhbb2020, the zoldycks are manipulative assholes as usual, written for hxhbb2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:22:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24976066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avtorSola/pseuds/avtorSola, https://archiveofourown.org/users/avtorSola/pseuds/davidoodles
Summary: Gon plays rugby on the college team, and his skill on the field definitely has national recruiters eyeing him. But then he meets Killua in art class, and unsurprisingly, they hit off almost immediately. But Killua is closed off, friendly but excruciatingly private, and Gon can quickly sense that something is amiss. If only Killua would talk to him...Killua is the latest in a long line of world-class gymnasts in the prodigal Zoldyck family. But since training under his father and brother takes up the majority of Killua's time, he can't see Gon too often - a pity, because he's discovered a passion in rugby (and in Gon himself, but that’s beside the point.)But when Gon convinces Killua to play rugby, the lie of a world-class gymnast and a private family unravels. There's definitely a reason that Silva and Illumi hired in-house physicians, and the school's resident clinician, Leorio, is far from the type of person to let this lie. So he gives an ultimatum: if Killua wants to stay on the team, he has to pass a physical exam.Only…there’s no way he can – not with his parents in the picture. But with Gon by his side?...Maybe it's possible after all.
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight/Senritsu | Melody
Comments: 99
Kudos: 205
Collections: Hxhbb





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea in my head since the 2019 HxH Big Bang, but it's STILL turning out chaotic and way too long. It was only supposed to be ten chapters, y'all - now I don't even KNOW how long it's gonna be.
> 
> However, I do need to say something first, in warning: You all, the readers, should realize what's wrong before the characters do. Just remember that it's a LOT easier to pick up on the small signs when they're explicitly written out on paper than when they're hidden amongst the bullshit of real life. Writing is a creative exercise, after all - I can draw attention to what I want you to notice. It's not so IRL.
> 
> Anyway. Enjoy the ride. Hopefully the angst and fluff are well-mixed <3

Chalk always had felt slightly unpleasant on his hands, especially after his palms were starting to become sticky with sweat. The white powder clung to the crevices between each finger and in the lines a palm reader would gaze into to read his future, and he grimaced, staring up at the bar dully.

He used to love this sport, but it had long since become pure drudgery and grief.

“Again.”

Illumi’s demands were simple nowadays, his ‘coaching’ limited to sharp commands and biting criticisms whenever he slipped up, but that was it. Most of his routines he could correct himself now, seventeen years of experience more than enough for him to tell when his form was off, or when he overcorrected. His limbs shook, exhaustion and the slow gnawing of aching bones dragging at him.

He took a few quick steps and leapt.

The bar slapped into chalk-covered palms, the powder rubbing against the smoothed surface, and then he exhaled, pulling up so that the bar was underneath him and flexing his core until he was upside down. This was the calmest part of the routine, the beginning, before he could make any mistakes, before his ankles could separate even the centimeter they’d need to for Illumi to restart the whole thing. He took a breath, ignoring the pounding weakness in his head and the shivering in his arms.

Then he swung. The mats beneath him flew by, one, two, three, then he let go, flying up and twisting once, twice, and catching the bar again as it spun past his head, the dizzying vertigo of being weightless in the air a brief moment of respite from the grief polluting his sport.

His sport. As if was ever really his, and not his father’s.

Four more releases, each series of flips and twists and dizzying falls increasing in difficulty, the smack of his hands on the bar less and less sure every time. Then a fifth one, the last one before the dismount, a double Kovac with a full twist. It was his move – a spontaneous decision three years ago, and he was still the only person to ever use it without a dismount. It had won him the gold twice now, and was by far the most difficult move he could pull off aside from his equally-notorious dismount – the quadruple back salto with a full twist.

He added an extra spin around the fiberglass bar for good measure, then let go, flying up and twisting once, twice, hands out. Illumi’s dark, unimpressed stare prickled his skin as he caught the bar by the pads of his fingertips, gripping as tightly as he could. But he’d made it. Again.

And the dismount. Three times he shot around the bar, building speed, hands burning slowly from the friction, and then catapulted himself up, knees pulling tight, his breath stopping. He counted heartbeats, watching the floor whizz by once, twice, thrice, getting closer every time-

Exhale. Four. And a full twist. And the mat, buckling as he shot apart, feet crunching the foam, arms wheeling out and forward to cling to his tenuous balance and- A breath, a stumble. He hopped slightly, his momentum too great – a failure, again, if Illumi had anything to say about it – and his ankle rolled. Painfully. A spike of fire shot up the outside of his leg and he yelped, collapsing sideways. Illumi made a noncommittal beep of surprise and mild curiosity.

“Almost perfect, until the end, Killua,” Illumi’s voice was dispassionate and Killua tried not to bristle, wincing at the throbbing pain flickering up the outside of his foot. That wasn’t good. “But you landed off center.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Killua tried to keep his voice even, pulling the aching foot towards him so he could press gently on the joint. He didn’t move from where he sat on the mats, hoping to pass off his movements as a brief inspection. But Illumi sensed something and stood from the bench, walking around the foot-thick foam mat until he stood in front of his younger brother. Killua quickly averted his gaze, prickling dread creeping down his spine, but stayed still.

“Let me see.”

Killua made no protest as his brother grabbed his ankle and pulled, wincing at the pressure on the throbbing ache. He knew better than to try to fight with his older brother about this – it would only end disastrously. He leaned back and bit his tongue as the older man looked, probing it none too gently. It was already feeling warm, and Killua could tell it had puffed up a bit even in the few minutes since he’d twisted it.

“You rolled it,” Illumi accused. Killua winced again, but not from pain. Everything felt heavy.

“…yeah.”

Illumi glared at him, dark eyes flaring with irritation. But he reached into the bag he carried around and pulled out a brace, a black thing with heavy Velcro and a lace-up front. Killua let out a tiny sigh of relief and bit his lip on the whimper that threatened him as Illumi wrapped the brace around his ankle. At least Illumi had decided it was consequential enough to not make him continue – the last time that had happened, he’d been limping for weeks, and his father had been forced to step in.

“A sprain, if I had to guess.” Illumi sounded angry, so Killua just nodded wearily. The world competitions he had been signed up for weren’t for another five months at least – plenty of time for a sprain to heal – but he knew it would irritate his brother and father if it didn’t heal quickly. Illumi glanced up at him, then held out a hand.

“Alright. Up. If you’re done practicing, you’ll go finish homework.”

Killua took it wordlessly, blue leotard shimmering in the gym lights as he let his brother help him up. Illumi was taller than him by a good three inches and it made walking even more awkward than it should have been with one throbbing ankle. Illumi wasn’t exactly the kind of man to stoop down for anyone else. His brother’s dark hair rippled down over his arm and shoulder, obscuring the blue straps of his leotard. But he didn’t say anything, patiently allowing his older brother to escort him from the home gym and up the servant’s stairs to the residential wing of their parent’s estate.

He was deposited unceremoniously onto the pressed bedsheets of the bed he’d always slept in as a child, the blue sheets still sharp at the corners. Gotoh had probably had the maids iron them or something. Illumi stared down at him with fish eyes, watching as he scooted back into the precise center of the down mattress. Then Illumi sat down at the desk in the corner of the room, primly crossing his ankles. He tossed over Killua’s textbook for Econometrics, the heavy thing hitting the sheets with a soft thud.

Wordlessly, Killua picked it up and started reading.

Illumi watched him study for two hours before leaving, sitting quietly in the corner of the large room while tapping rapidly away at his phone screen. The silence was thick. But breaking it for anything other than a homework question would be tantamount to inviting a diatribe about his grades, his useless choice of minor, and his poor form. So he read, the words scrolling with meaningless rapidity across the pages. Even though he’d remember none of this information in two days, the practiced pretense of studying was important.

It was the only thing that kept his parents and Illumi convinced that he really was trying his best in classes. And they worried enough as is, even though he sent them his schedule and diet weekly for criticism and evaluation. But he’d be fine. He only had two years of college left, and then he’d be free.

He kept telling himself that.


	2. Chapter 2

The paint was chunky on the brush, bright pink and fuchsia tones lumping prettily on the canvas. He was painting with a thick brush, the bristles wide and rough, so the paint was lined in pretty strokes as he spread it around in wandering loops. Chunks of color splattered the lime canvas, hissing brushstrokes calm and cheery in his ears.

Art classes were by far his favorite.

“Time! Brushes down, rinsed, and laid out to dry now, chop chop! Zushi, last brushstroke!”

Killua pulled back with a bit of a flare, glancing between the bouquet on the table and the brightly knurled paint drying on his small canvas. The colors were in similar tones, at least, and the general shape was the same, but he hadn’t had quite the time necessary to explore shadows or light for long enough to make clear forms. Professor Wing was nothing if not an interesting man to learn from, but his timed challenges were difficult. Killua knew that from last year.

And this one assignment would be especially interesting – they would be doing collaborative projects this year, and their still-lifes would be helping Professor Wing pair them up.

He got up from his stool, black pants flecked with little bits of color that would never come out, a byproduct of last year’s oil-painting fiasco, and trotted over to the sink, where he waited behind twenty other students to wash off the set of brushes he’d been using. They weren’t allowed to use oils yet, given that the assignment was introductory, so acrylic water-based paint had been poured out alongside tubs of acrylic modeling paste and other handy things. And Killua, as he usually did, went ham on the texture.

Not that he could really say that he had a ‘usual’ – he was only minoring in Art, much to the dismay of his parents (who would have MUCH preferred a Math minor or something similar) but he did rather like the texture of thick, dried paint.

By the time he got back to his seat, Professor Wing was already wandering around the easels, examining the different paintings with some interest. His shirt, a mess of splatterpaint in a degree far worse than Killua’s stained jeans, was untucked again. Killua leaned back as the older man came closer, grinning at him.

“Hey, long time no see.”

Wing gave him a fond smile.

“Oh, it’s Painthead in another of my classes? Were Introductory Art 101 and 1o2 not enough?”

The comment was gentle but it provoked a hint of fluttering annoyance. So  _ what _ , he went for a professor he knew already. Big whoop.

“I still have time to transfer out of Natural Forms, you know,” he muttered, and Wing laughed, turning then to the canvas on Killua’s easel. He regarded it for a moment, straightened up and shrugged.

“Your colors are textbook, Killua, and I appreciate the thick paint texture,” he praised, smiling. “But you’re still trying to do too much, too perfectly, in too little time. Next time pick a single flower or two, not the whole bouquet, hm?”

The guy next to him giggled a little, and Killua shot him a glare. Wing turned to the other student with a wide smile.

“Gon, let me see yours then- ah, you still have the opposite problem, hm? The lines and detail are excellent, but your colors leave a little to be desired. Next time, I would try some desaturation techniques, yes?”

The guy laughed again, a cheerful giggle that had Killua’s irritation dissipating, and Wing glanced between them, glasses glinting. Then he smiled and nodded, tucking his hands behind his back with some satisfaction.

“Painthead, Turpentine, I think you two would benefit from working together on the upcoming project.”

Killua stiffened in surprise, then stared at his new partner as the professor ambled on. The guy sitting next to him grinned, then held out a hand for Killua to take – which he did, hesitantly. The grip was strong and warm, and olive skin contrasted sharply against Killua’s sunscreen-pale tone.

“I’m Gon Freecs – I’m a Bio major but I can’t draw plants or animals if my life depended on it, so the bio department head sent me here last year. I ended up liking sculpting, so I’m still in Art.” Gon said, and his smile was like a lightbulb had exploded in Killua’s face, rudely blinding for a moment.

“Uh- Killua Zoldyck, I’m in Business, usually.”

Gon’s honey gaze lit up, and Killua swore he could hear bees buzzing inside Gon’s skull, there was so much energy there. He practically radiated heat and light. Then something occurred to Killua - Professor Wing had called him Turpentine- why? But Gon beat him to the punch.

“So- Painthead?”

Killua groaned, and Wing gave him a cheeky grin from across the room.

“I nearly passed out during class once, fell into a shelving unit, knocked over a collection of oil paint pots, and promptly turned into a rainbow Jackson Pollock artwork.” Killua said, huffing, and Gon started laughing for the thousandth time in a single hour – how was  _ anyone _ that happy? Spiteful, he smirked and bounced the attention back. “Well, with a name like Turpentine, I’m going to guess you were an idiot and tried to drink it, so at least I’m smarter than that.”

Gon stayed silent for a moment, then choked out a sheepish snort and half turned away.

“I did.”

Killua paused, not comprehending the words.

“You what.”

There was another long pause. And then Killua knocked his stool over.

“You  _ drank turpentine??  _ How- how do you not notice _ the smell-! _ ”

“I’d broken my nose at practice, it was in a red solo cup, and the professor didn’t see me until I’d already taken a mouthful-”

“You’re a  _ moron. _ ”

“I spat it out!”

“Yeah, okay,  _ Turpentine _ .”

But Gon was smiling, not seeming offended in the slightest by Killua’s outburst, nor the fact that half the class was laughing at them now, and that warm energy Gon radiated came crawling over Killua’s skin in fluttery waves. Gon’s smile was kind, and his dark hair was messy in the cute way that suggested he was always running his fingers through it.

“Anyway, can I have your number?”

But the voice wasn’t his, it was Gon’s, and Killua froze like a deer in the headlights, wondering breathlessly for a split second if it was even possible - if this was happening. And after a half second too long, Gon went pink across the face, flustered suddenly.

“I mean- for the project- um.”

That started the gears turning again and Killua unstuck himself with a soft ‘oh,’ hiding disappointment behind a practiced smile. Gon held out his phone, a new-contact page already pulled up, and Killua clicked in his number then gave it back.

Then, a few seconds later his back pocket buzzed, and Gon, still pink across the cheeks, startling whistling innocently. Killua pulled his phone out with a suspicious glare, and opened his messages.

_ Unknown number: “You are cute though, Painthead. You free on Saturday?” _

If nothing else did, the smile and blush rising up his neck gave him away in fuchsia colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (note: my current pseud is my tumblr url, the OG pseud is my twitter/insta)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long(er) chapter, so the next one will be on a bit of a delay! <3

Killua didn’t often find a reason to use any of the communal equipment in the lobby of his apartment building, but since his ankle had been wrapped up in a tight splint, Illumi and his father had temporarily banned him from going on his usual long runs or doing anything of a similar nature. That meant his only option for cardio was a stationary bike, or goofing around on the Lawn.

So, he found himself heading down the narrow apartment stairs on a Thursday afternoon with a water bottle, his crappy smartphone with shitty battery life, and headphones in hand, nervously creeping toward the tiny gym. He’d only been inside once, when his father had brought him here at the beginning of his sophomore year to move in his furniture, and he’d gotten a tour from the landlord. But he did distinctly remember seeing a stationary bike at the time.

Hopefully it was still there.

The concrete made a soft tapping noise when his sneakers touched it, and the gentle _tiktiktiktik_ followed him across the landing to the glass door. He swiped his resident-access card and the lock clicked, door popping open with an inviting squeak. He stuck his head in. The small space smelled strongly of lemon disinfectant. Nice. At least it was kept clean?

There were a couple contraptions for lifting weights in the corners of the room, and three treadmills, but the small gym was empty of people – reassuringly so. Killua crept inside, chewing his lower lip anxiously. He didn’t see the bike anywhere. Uh oh.

“Oh, hey!”

The door creaked open behind him, and Killua whirled around to see warm amber eyes and a white grin, dark hair pulled away from the olive forehead with an awful green sweat band that looked like it belonged in a “Fashion Disasters of the 70’s” photo reel. He went a bit pink across the cheeks at the sight, though whether or not it was due to the positively awful fashion choice or the way Gon’s tank top caught across his pecs, Killua couldn’t really tell.

“Turpentine? What are you doing here?”

Gon’s cheerful grin dropped into a pout, and he groaned dramatically, flopping down on the bench-press station.

“Oi, Killua, that’s mean! I have a name, you know.”

The stationary bike was gone, Killua now knew that much, and so he sighed, flopping down by the free weights. Gon sat up, done with the momentary burst of drama. Killua stuck out his tongue.

“You drank turpentine, you moron. Earn your name back.”

Gon’s answering laugh definitely made his heart flutter. Fuck. Shouldn’t it be illegal to be that cute? He hadn’t really noticed during their Art class, but the guy was built like a tank, his shoulders broad enough that he could probably give even Milluki a ride around – not that Milluki would agree, of course. Gon was tall too – probably had at least two inches on Killua, though he didn’t have half of Killua’s muscle definition. Killua definitely had him beat on that. Not that the guy wasn’t fit, because that much was clear but- he had some softness on him. The huggy, plush kind that Killua certainly couldn’t have.

So. Gon was a big, tall guy that looked huggable as fuck, with a pretty smile and good hair, and that was enough to definitely make him illegally cute. And then of course, his personality was a literal sun. How rude of him.

Said illegally cute idiot then stood up and started sliding weights off the rack, loading them onto either side of the barbell. Clearly he was here to do some kind of workout, so Killua might as well join him. If he couldn’t do cardio, he could at least lift some weights, right? That kind of healthy bulk was usually approved of by Illumi and his father. Plus, Gon would get to see his shoulder definition…

“If I can bench-press you, do I get my name back?” Gon asked, giving him a cheeky smile. A sudden chill rippled down Killua’s spine, completely unprompted, and he scoffed, turning his head away with a smug smirk.

“It’s not even Saturday yet, and you’re already trying to woo me? Nice to know I’m _that_ attractive.”

Gon’s cheeks went a startling shade of rose red, and he hummed suddenly, looking very cheery indeed. A hand went to his hair, tugging on the dark locks with some embarrassment.

“…Uh. I mean. I’m not making you uncomfortable, right?”

Killua felt heat rise across his face. What a bold question. He wasn’t even denying it?

“…I wouldn’t have suggested a coffee date if I wasn’t comfortable I could deck you without any actual effort. You might look built, but you’ve got nothing on me,” he shot back. “If you did turn out to be a creep, that is. Plus, I know the baristas at the coffee shop I suggested.”

Gon laughed a bit, then laid down on the bench and lifted the barbell off. The faint clunking of shifting metal was a pleasant sound in the otherwise empty gym, and Killu listened to it for a moment before Gon broke the silence again.

“So. What were you here to do? I didn’t interrupt your workout, did I?”

Killua shook his head, then stood up and wandered around behind where Gon was working out on the bench, hands sliding under the barbell without touching it so he could spot the other man. Gon gave him a quick grin in thanks, effort already sending a rush of blood to his face.

“Nah, I was looking for a stationary bike. Rolled my ankle the other day and now my dad banned me from running until it heals completely.”

Gon’s expression shifted slightly, the intense concentration of weightlifting tinted with a hint of sheepish understanding and concern.

“Oh, yeah, they took the bike out two weeks ago – the front wheel fell off somehow.”

Killua shifted. Two weeks ago? Clearly Gon had been here before then.

“Two weeks ago, huh. So I guess you live in this building, then? How have I not seen you?”

Gon didn’t answer for a minute, huffing with exertion against the weight of the bench-press, then grinned up at Killua once he was done with the set of repetitious movements, setting the barbell on the hooks meant for it.

“Ah- I just sleep here, really. I play as a starting forward on the rugby team, so I’m at practice a lot, and there’s tutors over there to help me with homework when I need it. But I’m here on weekends, usually.”

That made sense, and as Gon took the barbell back into his hands, working on another set, Killua sighed.

“That explains it – I have to go home almost every weekend, so I’d miss you when you are around.”

That gave Gon a minute of pause and he furrowed his eyebrows together, almost cross-eyed as he stared at Killua around the shiny metal pole in his hands. Combined with the awful sweat band, it almost looked like he was some kind of recited comic skit character.

“Every weekend…uff, heavy…then what about Saturday? You’re not going to stand me up, are you?”

Killua shrugged, watching the sweat glisten across Gon’s forehead. How would he say it without sounding weird?

“I’m banned from returning home for now. My dad’s sick of me being around all the time, you know? Also – you’re my partner for Professor Wing’s class. Ditching you would _kill_ the rest of the semester.”

The grin on his face did the trick and Gon laughed breathlessly, again pausing for a short break between sets.

“Oh, my aunt kicks me out of the house all the time too. Mostly when I start picking tomatoes off her plants and eating them like apples.”

“You- excuse me, _how_ do you eat tomatoes?”

* * *

The remainder of the workout was…interesting, to say the least. Killua spotted Gon through the rest of his bench press routine, and then Gon returned the favor. They took turns on half the machines in the room before calling it a day, shoulders and backs aching from exertion.

Killua refused to acknowledge how Gon ate tomatoes, however. It was too appalling. He just bit into them like apples. Ridiculous. And this was the guy he’d agreed to go on a date with? Good thing he was cute.

Friday came and went quickly, passing by in a dull blur only marginally brightened up by the art classes Killua set for himself at the end of each day. Gon didn’t do much in the way of keeping his distance in those classes either, another positive in the muddy monotone of a degree he didn’t want. And then it was Saturday.

It was Saturday, and Palm’s Java was pleasantly crowded – but in the cozy way, a soft hubbub that made it simple to converse without being overheard and only marginally impaired someone’s hearing. Plus, Palm was on duty on Saturdays, standing behind the counter with her bright purple waves pulled back into a messy bun and covered with a bedazzled hairnet. And Killua had been on the receiving end of her wrath more than once before – he knew that if anything went wrong, she’d be the first to cause a scene.

So, hands trembling with trepidation, he swung open the door of the small coffeeshop and ducked inside, glancing around at the corner booths for a splash of messy dark hair. But Gon was nowhere in the immediate vicinity, though the inside of the small shop was bustling with college students in various states of overwork. Interesting – he hadn’t thought he would arrive first.

And then Palm waved him down, winking from behind a pair of owlish glasses.

“He’s in the back – I sent him to one of the Tables.” she said cheerfully, a soft sigh escaping her. “He’s a dreamboat, that’s for sure. You know how to pick ‘em.”

Killua glared at her, growling under his breath as she started giggling uncontrollably. Well fuck. Palm could usually sniff out the troublesome ones from a mile away, but clearly she’d been taken enough with Gon to actually give him one of the coveted tables tucked away in the corners of the restaurant, between the support pillars holding the ceiling up and the back windows. Killua never knew why they were so fought over, besides the fact that they were at once secluded and surrounded by the lovely aroma of roasted coffee beans, but it had gotten to the point where Palm started rationing their use.

“Don’t get any weird ideas, this is a test run,” he snapped, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest. Palm laughed out him outright, casually stirring a pretty leaf into the top of the cappuccino she was making and serving it to the girl at the counter.

“Right, a test run. Is that why you’re wearing designer jeans, white Doc Martens, and eyeliner?”

“Shut up! Sometimes I just want to look good, okay?” Killua stepped up to the counter, scowling.

“Oh, spare me the theatrics, you only care about your appearance when you’re trying to impress someone and we both know it. Espresso?”

“Yeah, make it a double. And that’s not true, you liar.”

“Killua, every time I’ve seen you in here you’ve got paint on your face, unless you’re trying to look pretty for someone. Ah- put your wallet back. This one’s on the house, so go get the boy, you useless gay.”

“I’m _bi_ , asshole. And at least I can actually get a date instead of pining after the same man for- what, three years?”

Palm glared at him, passed him the espresso, then reached out and flicked his forehead with a purple-painted nail.

“You’re lucky I tolerate your presence sometimes, you little shit.”

Killua smirked, took a tiny, elegant sip of his drink just to spite her, and sauntered off feeling much more cheerful than nervous. Gon waved at him as he rounded a tall concrete pillar, already relaxing on the cushy chair with a large coffee-milkshake-drink, wearing a clean grey v-neck and- white Doc Martens.

Killua paused as he approached, then carefully set his cup down on the table, staring at Gon’s shoes. Gon glanced down as well, turning beet-red after a second. Then they both started laughing.

“We have good taste in footwear, clearly,” Gon giggled, and Killua flopped down in the comfy armchair with a sigh and a grin. His date was also wearing eyeliner, it seemed like – a thin trace of dark around those pretty honey eyes – and almost immediately he felt a surge of relief. This guy was on the rugby team and felt comfortable with makeup? No wonder Palm had approved.

“I’m surprised you have it, at least,” Killua shot back. “After what you said about tomatoes-”

“Tomatoes are _delicious_ , so don’t you start on me.”

“You bite into them like apples, your opinions are invalid.”

“Hey!”

The banter felt natural, and Gon’s grin had only grown wider since it had started so Killua would count this as successful so far. Hell, he had even gotten a free espresso off Palm. Doubly successful.

“So, anyway, you look really nice, Killua,” Gon said, his voice quivering a bit. “Really nice.”

The slight stammering made Killua’s eyebrows shoot up, and he cocked his head to the side, feigning innocence. Well. Palm might have poked fun at him for dressing pretty, but it was clearly having the intended effect.

“Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself, without that awful sweat band you wear-”

“It keeps my hair out of my face! And green is a good color on me, everyone says so.”

“You’re in art class and you can’t tell?”

Gon’s lower lip stuck out in a pronounced pout and Killua stifled a startled giggle at the affected expression.

“I like sculpting, not painting,” Gon whined. Then he leaned forward and set his chin in his hands, sunny gaze practically sparkling. “Teach me your ways, o wise Painthead.”

“Oh, shut up.”

* * *

The rest of the date passed quickly – more quickly than Killua was expecting, to be perfectly honest. There was something natural about talking to Gon, something easy about teasing him without being too direct or biting. And for his part, Gon was warm – all over. His personality, his smile, his peppy retorts for every one of Killua’s teasing remarks.

They left the coffee shop holding hands, with a promise for another date already scheduled, and Palm waved theatrically as they left. Killua flipped her the bird; Gon waved back.

The next date was a little different – due to Killua’s twisted ankle, the more strenuous of Gon’s suggestions had been put on the back-burner until a later date, and Killua nearly point-blank refused to do a dinner date of any kind, which left only some less conventional options. Like bowling. They went bowling, failed so badly that the bowling alley staff took pity on them and put the bumpers up, and pretty much melted from the hilarity of it all.

Well, okay. Part of the spectacular failure of their bowling skills was because they’d made every shot a trick shot. But that was beside the point. Killua couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled so much that his face hurt. But he woke up the next day with sore cheeks, a lingering warmth in his chest, and a knock on his door.

After figuring out that Killua only lived two floors above him, Gon had taken to dropping by at random times, somehow choosing to take the extra effort and walk up the stairs to Killua’s shoebox apartment. And it had started to become a routine, Gon walking upstairs in the mornings before class so that they could walk together, or Killua dropping down to the larger apartment Gon shared with his roommate to wait while the rugby player ran around with a square of toast between his teeth, frantic.

So when he opened the door on a Sunday afternoon, about three weeks after he and Gon had started going out, he was entirely unsurprised to see Gon bouncing up and down in front of him, dressed in a loose t-shirt, sneakers, and shorts made of a strange, stiff fabric that Killua couldn’t quite place. He was grinning widely, an oblong ball tucked under one arm, and as Killua opened the door he charged with a mock roar.

Killua yelled wordlessly, Gon’s shoulder hitting him square in the gut and knocking the wind out of him, fighting to stay on his feet as the other man’s arms wrapped tightly around his upper thighs and _pushed_. But there was only so much he could do with his knees locked together and an idiot clinging to his waist like a moronic koala.

He went down with a growling yell, tucking his arms to his body the way Gon had showed him just the week before, his shoulder thumping against the carpet relatively harmlessly. But Gon didn’t let go, dropping the rugby ball in favor of caterpillar crawling up Killua’s body to flop down on top of him. Killua shoved at Gon, attempting to heave him off with a heavy grunt, with no success. The unapologetic culprit laying on his chest cupped his chin in his hands with a triumphant grin, elbows digging into Killua’s breastbone.

“Hi Killua!”

“You fucking _tackled me_. In my own apartment. No hellos for you, Turpentine.”

“Would you prefer me to tackle you in _my_ apartment? When Ikalgo’s there? He’s not known for staying out of my bedroom.”

Killua paused for a moment, then narrowed his eyes at the grinning gremlin lying on top of him.

“…are you making an innuendo, Freecs?”

The grin turned mischievous, a spark of fire bubbling into that sweet honey stare.

“I could be, but only if you’re down.”

“…Wine and dine me first and then maybe I’ll consider it.”

Gon’s expression changed, eyebrows pinching together on his forehead, confusion bubbling in his eyes.

“But you don’t like dinner dates.”

Killua nodded sagely, unable to prevent the corner of his mouth from twitching up in a budding smile. Fuck. Gon just _did_ something to him. It was weird, and he wasn’t really sure how he felt about it yet.

“Yeah, but I said nothing about hating wine nights. Now get off, you’re smushing me, Turpentine.”

Gon rolled off with a whine and they both stood up, brushing themselves off and straightening out their twisted t-shirts. Killua ran a hand through his white hair, mussing it properly, then turned around and picked up the ball Gon had been carrying.

“Were you going somewhere?”

His boyfriend – Was that an okay word to use? Or were they still in that awkward zone of more-than-friends, less-than-lovers? – nodded, trotting further into Killua’s studio apartment and plopping down on top of one of Killua’s tiled kitchen counters with a loud chirp of affirmation.

“The guys’ rugby team is playing a pickup game with interested students on the green here in a little bit – we’re trying to drum up some interest in the school’s club team and recruit folks who are really good to the competitive team, you know. I was going to ask if you wanted to come down and goof off with us – you already know how to take a tackle properly, and I brought a mouthguard for you – it’s still in the packaging, no worries.”

Killua stared at the sunny grin glaring him down, finally caving under the heat of that hopeful, pleading look.

“Yeah, fine. Okay. Let me put on my ratty workout clothes first.”

The small sun in his apartment flashed like a firecracker, Gon’s grin turning to a cheer. Killua rolled his eyes, rounding the corner wall that closed off his bathroom from the rest of the apartment, and beelined for the trunk of clothing he’d put at the foot of his bed. The wood was smooth on his hands, hinges creaking noisily as he pulled clothes out to change into – a blue t-shirt and basketball shorts to replace the comfy sweatpants and oversized sweatshirt that he usually slept in.

Gon waved at him as he moved toward the bathroom door.

“Do you mind if I grab some water?”

Killua nodded an affirmative, distracted, and slid into the bathroom to change. He and Gon might be dating – yes? They were actually dating, right? This wasn’t weird anymore? – but that didn’t mean Gon was going to be allowed to see his abs yet. That would require some serious begging on Gon’s part. Just for the meme of it, really.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Gon was sipping a tall glass of water, a puzzled look on his face.

“When was the last time you bought groceries? Your fridge is emptier than Zushi’s Tinder DMs.”

Killua scoffed a bit, pulling on socks and lacing up the ankle brace Illumi now required him to wear outside of his apartment.

“What were you doing in my fridge in the first place?” he retorted, and Gon pouted, swirling the clear contents of his glass.

“Looking for a pitcher of water in your fridge, but apparently you don’t do that.”

White hair rustled as Killua stood and shoved his feet into his running sneakers, stretching a little in preparation for the bruises he was sure to get within the next fifteen minutes or so.

“What, and you do? I just put ice in my tap water if I want it cold.”

Gon gasped, putting a hand to his mouth in mock surprise.

“Sacrilege! Ice in tap water when you can keep it cold in your refrigerator?”

“You eat tomatoes like apples, Turpentine, I don’t want to hear it. Now finish your water so I can knock you on your ass already.”

“I’d like to see you try, Painthead.”

* * *

What appeared to be the whole of Gon’s rugby team – a full twenty-two players – was hanging around the lawn, most wearing the odd, stiff shorts Gon had said were rugby shorts, and about fifteen to twenty freshmen and ten upperclassmen were there as well, watching curiously as a redhead with wild curls and a face so freckled it resembled a galaxy charged one of his fellow teammates and slammed him bodily to the grass. Gon waved as he approached, Killua trailing behind him, regarding the cluster of unfamiliar boys with faint nerves.

The redhead bounded up as Gon approached, roaring an enthusiastic hello.

“Gon! You lazy piece of ass, get your butt over here and let me demonstrate a proper tackle- oh, who’s the handsome fellow you invited?”

Killua rolled his eyes, snatched the rugby ball out from under Gon’s arm, and chucked it straight at Ikalgo’s freckled forehead. It connected with a satisfyingly hollow thud and knocked the burly scrumhalf onto his butt before bouncing off into the grass, and several of Gon’s teammates burst into laughter.

“Ikalgo you idiot, you’ve seen me enough times trying to drag Gon to class on time.”

Ikalgo groaned, sitting up and rubbing the reddening mark on his forehead where the ball had connected, giving Killua a baleful stare.

“I’m waiting for Gon to man up and introduce you properly, Killua, since he’s wishy-washy around me.”

Gon huffed irritably and Killua glanced at him with a somewhat wary stare, wondering halfheartedly what Gon would say for a brief moment. Then he sighed, jamming his hands in his pockets. It hadn’t been that long since the second semester of junior year had begun, and even less time since the coffee date at Palm’s Java or the hilariously botched bowling date – even he knew part of that was due to how recent the relationship was.

“We’ve been on four dates Ikalgo, there’s no labels on it yet,” Killua said. That got a chorus of “oohs” from the team, and Gon hung his head a bit, looking sheepish for a moment. Then he smiled and reached out, taking Killua’s free hand in his own and pulling him forward, gratitude shining in that amber gaze.

“Yeah, it’s still early days,” he agreed. Then he shone again, warm light in his eyes. “Plus, I was promised that I would be knocked on my ass, and I don’t have partners that can’t keep their promises.”

The challenge was all too clear, and Killua grinned right back into that smirking face, Gon’s fingers warm against his.

“Oh, I’m _very_ good at keeping promises, Turpentine.”

Then the gears shifted to teaching, and the twenty-two players already there were revealed to actually be a mix of the competitive and club players, all ready to help show the interested folks what the sport was all about. It was an interesting game for sure – Killua had seen it televised plenty of times before, when his father invited over a few associates to watch the national league and discuss business. But playing it was well different from merely watching.

For one – tackling was _fun_. Fun in a way he hadn’t remembered sports being in years. Fun in the way gymnastics had been when he was four and still being taught how to do a proper salto on the horizontal bar, instead of being criticized when he failed to perform the skills he already knew.

“Remember, keep your shoulders low and square, and lock your arms around their knees. Cheek-to-cheek contact only – if you’re not trying to literally kiss ass, you’re not doing it right.”

Killua rolled his eyes at Ikalgo’s commentary, standing across from a sophomore who was about two inches shorter than him with close-cropped brown hair. He’d introduced himself as Zushi and played as a forward – specifically as a flanker – on the school’s team. He held an oblong rugby ball in his hands, smiling as he tossed it from hand to hand.

“Okay – ready, go!”

The line of players holding the rugby balls took off toward their partners, and Zushi was no exception, running full tilt down the field. It was tackling practice, but that didn’t mean they weren’t trying to make it to the try-line and touch the ball to the ground for a score.

Killua charged, grinning around the black piece of rubber protecting his teeth. He ducked low as Zushi approached, almost lowering himself to a squat, and lunged, plowing into Zushi’s gut with a low roar. The rough rugby shorts scratched at his cheek, and with his hands locked tightly around the shorter man’s thighs he _drove_ forward _,_ sneakers sliding ineffectively on the grass. But it was enough, and Zushi went down with a grunt, trapped in Killua’s grip.

The jolt of hitting soft grass was a rush, the scent of dirt and sweat congealing in his nose, but Killua laughed breathlessly, rolling off Zushi and away, allowing them both up. Zushi grinned at him, already popping to his feet and shaking off the dust, rubbing his hip ruefully

“Oof, you hit _hard_. Gon, tell your not-boyfriend to quit _tanking_ me, this isn’t fair! I’m going to be whole bruise by tomorrow!”

Gon waved dismissively at him from the try line, ball in hand and a tiny freshman boy grappling around his waist, struggling to push him down. Killua stifled a laugh, feeling sorry for the freshman, who was clearly trying his utmost. Gon’s muscle might be soft, but it was clear those thighs were strong. _Very_ strong. He wasn’t an easy player to take down.

“I’m standing right here,” Killua commented mildly, raising an eyebrow at Zushi. The shorter man tossed him a bright grin.

“Yes, but I’m blaming Gon for bringing you here thus getting me knocked flat on my ass,” he said seriously, brown gaze glaring up into Killua’s blue eyes sternly despite the mirth fluttering in his grin. “Everything is always Gon’s fault.”

Killua couldn’t help grinning right back.

“I like the way you think.”

The drill reset, and Killua both tackled and was tackled by Zushi over the next dozen minutes, dirt rubbing into white hair and a muddy stripe crowning his forehead at some point. There was a lot of breathless laughter, the ache in his ankle utterly forgotten, and after the rugby team’s captain, a brash, somewhat loud man named Knuckle judged them all to be relatively competent, he called for a pickup game of touch rugby.

The scrimmage was exhilarating, blood buzzing pleasantly in his ears when it was his turn on the field, mixed in with the new and experienced players. His team’s captain was Ikalgo, who was busy darting all across the field as a scrumhalf and positioning the new players.

“Oi, Killua! Are you a fast runner?” Ikalgo called, the ball temporarily abandoned on the field while they switched the newer players around. Killua paused for a moment, wondering, then shrugged.

“I’m alright, I suppose? I don’t really time myself ever.”

Ikalgo nodded, as if the answer was somehow within a metric he had established in his mind, and he pointed at the far-right side of the field.

“Alright - you’ll play wing in the backline. When they pass you the ball, take off towards the try line and score – and remember, no forward passes.”

Killua gave Ikalgo a thumbs up, then shoved Gon’s spare mouthguard back into his mouth and trotted over to his place on the field, searching. Then he saw it – Gon’s fierce grin glinting at him from across the foul line, on the opposite half of the field. His art-partner was captaining the other team. Excellent.

“Gon, if I tackle you, I’m actually tackling you, none of this two-hand touch stuff!” he called, and Gon gave him two thumbs up, his smile stretching from ear to ear.

“Trying to grab my ass already, I see!” Gon yelled back, and Killua rolled his eyes as the smattering of boys around them started laughing, heat rising to his face.

“More like checking if you have an ass worth grabbing in the first place!”

The laughter turned to a low rumble of hoots, all gleeful over the friendly banter occurring in front of them. Gon’s jaw dropped, playfully offended.

“Oh, you’re going _down_ , Killua!”

Knuckle interrupted with a loud ‘harrumph,’ holding the rugby ball above his head.

“Quit flirting and- _play!_ ”

The line surged, Killua’s makeshift team quickly angling along the field at a diagonal as Ikalgo dove forward and captured the ball, popping it off quickly to a pod of three forwards that bulldozed straight into Gon and a mountain of a man that had introduced himself as Uvo earlier. They were tagged almost immediately, going to ground and presenting the ball as if they’d been properly tackled, Zushi rucking over top of the downed player, his shoulder digging into Gon’s as they struggled to push the other person away from the ball.

There was a low roar, and then Zushi was yelling wordlessly, being driven forcefully away, and the other team’s scrumhalf ducked in behind Gon, grabbing the ball away and tossing it out and away down the opposing backline, the oblong ball spinning gracefully.

Killua ran forward, putting himself even with the wiry man on his left, Ikalgo’s casual yells from the middle of the field easily directing him and the other curious freshmen around to form a nice defensive line.

“Push right, Killua! Don’t let him get on your outside-!”

The other team’s back reached up and out, grabbing at the ball with nervous, unsure fingers, and Killua saw his chance, rushing forward, hands outstretched-

And as the other man fumbled the catch, Killua darted past, hooking an arm around the ball and _sprinting_.

“Hell yeah!” he heard Zushi scream from behind him, the wind fresh on his face as he took off down the sideline. “Holy shit, he can _run!_ ”

The grass was rolling beneath his feet, the rough surface of the ball in his hands tucked securely to his chest, the players on the other teams chasing after him. He couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face, sheer elation bubbling in the pit of his stomach as the posts of the upright goal marking the position of the try line grew rapidly closer.

Then he heard the friendly snarl approaching from his left, and glanced back to see Gon gaining on him, those hazel eyes sharp with both mirth and the raw fervor of exertion. At this rate, he was going to he caught while aiming to score behind the goal posts, but if he touched the ball to the ground too far to the side, then the kicker would have a difficult time of it.

So as Gon came within two meters of him, he stepped in suddenly, turning on a dime to strafe left, the precise movements beaten into him by years of Silva and Illumi’s careful training making themselves finally useful, and Gon soared past on his left with a startled squawk, tumbling to the ground outside of the sidelines.

And then Killua dove, the ball outstretched in both hands, and touched down in the try zone, gasping for breath and laughing. His team broke into cheers, Zushi screaming himself hoarse, and he rolled onto his back, panting and happy, the burn in his muscles keeping him warm all over. He was dizzy with exertion, the world spinning faintly in circles, but he’d scored, and the look on Gon’s pretty face had been _priceless._

Gon grumped over, bending over where he lay splayed on the grass, fighting to hide a grin behind a pout. Then he held out a hand, huffing in mock irritation.

“You’re really fast, whoa,” he said breathlessly, “I could barely keep up. And your evade- have you ever considered trying out for the college team?”

Killua took the hand Gon offered and let the other man pull him to his feet, still breathing heavily from his sprint across the whole field. The field faded into grey for a moment before he shook himself, heaving a deep sigh. Him, on the college team? 

“Ha, I wish,” he gasped out. “Can’t though. Besides, haven’t you had enough of me yet?”

The startling smile Gon treated him to dissolved the breathlessness plaguing him into something far less mundane, and warm hands reached out, clasping around his own, fingers sliding through his, their callouses grinding against each other.

“Had enough of you?” Gon repeated, tiny suns in his eyes. “Never!”

It was too much, too much warmth too fast, before he was ready. Killua’s face burned.

And so he let go of Gon’s hands, dropped his shoulder, and rammed straight into the other boy’s gut, wrenching the flailing boy to the grass with a violent tackle. The other players started howling with laughter in the background again.

“What about now?” He let go, possibly letting his hands linger on Gon’s thighs a bit longer than necessary, crawling over top of the man he’d been dating and going limp. “Have you had enough of me now?”

Gon struggled against him for a moment, then went still, whining playfully.

“Killuaaaaaa,” The pout on Gon’s lips was puffy, the tiny freckles across the bridge of his nose incredibly close. “…You’re close.”

Like lightning, sparking across his skin, the one mild comment sent a cascade of emotion flooding through Killua’s head, short-circuiting anything but his senses. The feel of Gon’s body trapped under his own, the warmth and sweat of Gon’s skin pressed to his, the dangerous proximity of their mouths, of the dark eyelashes framing amber eyes- he was hyperaware now, something nameless tingling down his spine. How had he grown so attached, so quickly? How? Did he even have time for this, with the World Championships coming up?

What would his father say?

He leapt off like Gon was a live wire, recoiling faster than he’d thought possible, sudden panic surging in his stomach, cracking adrenaline exhilaration into bubbling anxiety. The echoing laughter of the other boys in the background faded in his ears, crumbling like ash, like chalk in the crevices of his fingers. How hadn’t he thought of it before?

“Sorry.” He breathed, running his hands over the grass below him, tiny blades prickling his fingers. Gon was looking at him strangely now, brows furrowed together in worry.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You’re turning a little pale.”

Pale? That was fine, pretty normal actually, but he found his tongue wouldn’t move, frozen in his mouth. He swallowed twice, trying to unstick it, and pulled the mouthguard out of his mouth, feeling oddly disconnected from his own body.

“…a little dizzy, that’s all,” he heard himself say, voice echoing inside of his own skull. “I think I’m going to go back. Thanks for the invite, Gon.”

He stood up unsteadily, the world starting to fracture around him, mind swirling with cloying cold. He’d almost forgotten, almost forgotten that his father would prefer him to ignore everything except school and gymnastics. His ankle didn’t hurt anymore, this much had made it clear, so he wouldn’t have another weekend free.

“Hey. Killua? I’ll walk you back?”

Gon’s hands were warm on his elbow, and he half-turned at the gentle touch, the ballooned, floating ice flooding his body trickling away, letting him seep back into the human shell. Knuckle came up behind them, black pompadour of hair bouncing, Ikalgo’s messy mop of red curls just behind him. They both looked concerned.

“Gon?” Ikalgo’s voice rattled in the air and Killua closed his eyes, trying to quell the vertigo more quickly. Gon’s hand on his elbow slowly slid up his arm, until the palm rested between his shoulderblades, warm against his blue shirt.

“He said he’s not feeling well-”

“I’m fine, I promise.”

It was weird, but Gon’s hand on his back was grounding him well, the physical contact a strange counterpoint in the swimming chilly fog closed around his head.

Maybe it was an overreaction. His father loved rugby, and Gon was kind. Surely there wouldn’t be problems. Well. Not with his dad, at least – Illumi would blow a gasket.

…but it wasn’t like he had to know.

The thought was heady, sending him spiraling again, and he opened his eyes to be fully back in his body again, the dizziness now contained inside his skull where it belonged. Gon’s hand was still warm on his back, the hazel gaze locked on his face pinched with worry.

Illumi didn’t have to know. Silva didn’t have to know. It could be just fine.

“And yeah, you can walk me back, Gon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me! You can find me in These Places:
> 
> https://davidoodles.tumblr.com/
> 
> https://twitter.com/avtorSola
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/avtorsola/


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit probably gets clarified in this chapter, if anyone was still wondering what was going on with the Zoldycks. Be sure to *actually* read my tags, if you haven't already <3

The drive home, a full three hours, was always the longest drive he had to make, no matter where else he chose to go, and so when he said goodbye to Gon after their last classes on Friday he pulled out an audiobook, plugging his phone into his car’s console with an aux cord.

Gon had walked him back to his apartment after the pickup rugby match the weekend prior, chattering gently the whole time, and shortly afterward Killua had found half of Gon’s rugby team in his apartment, clearly concerned by his sudden departure from the field. He’d been hard-pressed to excuse it, but eventually Shoot, the school team’s quiet fullback, had accepted his excuse of a sleepless night and a long essay, and the team had been lectured into shutting up.

Honestly, it had been…strangely nice. Gon had cuddled into his side, heedless of how sweaty and gross they both were, and tucked his dark-haired head against Killua’s chest, humming tunelessly. And the team had made themselves relatively comfortable, casually pestering him to keep playing with them. It hadn’t helped with the buzzing anxiety, but it had done wonders at keeping his mind from expanding too far away from his body, kept him grounded while he fretted.

And now the trick would be convincing Illumi that he’d done nothing but study in the month he hadn’t been permitted to return home.

With the audiobook, the drive passed at a bearable pace, and soon he was pulling into the driveway of his family’s sweeping estate, being bowed into his father’s massive garage by Gotoh and one of the other butlers.

As he got out of the tiny car, he passed his overnight suitcase to Gotoh, who stood waiting, his pinched face folded into something like scrutiny.

“Your father is waiting for you in the gym.”

_Fuck._ So soon? He should have been expecting it, of course, especially after an injury took him out of serious practice for as long as it had. Hell, he’d even worn one of his gymnastics leotards while driving home, he’d been so certain that he wouldn’t have a moment to spare.

But it still sent a chill down his spine, throat closing uncomfortably.

“Okay, I’ll head over. Can you put my suitcase-”

“It will be in your bedroom on the side table for when you return this evening.”

Gotoh beat him to the punch and Killua stood stricken for a moment. Then he nodded wordlessly and ducked into the main body of the house, winding through silent back hallways until he arrived at the high, empty building that his great-great-grandfather had built when the first Zoldyck gymnast had swept for gold at the Olympics.

His father sat on a small folding chair, seated in front of their practice pommel horse, and Illumi stood behind him silently, hands clasped behind his back. They both turned at the sound of the door creaking open, Silva’s hard stare burning a hole through the center of Killua’s forehead.

“I will be watching your routine today, Killua.”

He couldn’t prevent himself from tensing up, stomach churning, quietly thankful that he hadn’t eaten yet today.

“Yes, father.”

He pulled his jacket off mechanically, hanging the garment up on the wall hooks dedicated for that specific purpose. Illumi’s hand ghosted over his bare shoulderblade, fingers frigid. Killua struggled not to flinch.

“Let me help you wrap your wrists. No more injuries, right Kil?”

“…yeah.”

Killua sat on the edge of the thick mat at his brother’s direction, watching as Illumi helped him wrap his hands and wrists, slathering chalk over his palms. The long pants of his leotard rustled faintly, the shimmery blue material shifting against the fluorescent lights overhead. His eyes watered in protest, but he said nothing. He knew better.

“Alright. Kil, start with the pommel horse.”

And he did.

Every muscle in his body felt pulled tight, stress biting deep into his core as he strained to stay perfect, strained to keep his body from betraying him. The pommel horse was a blur, a pass, the only mistake a brief separation between his ankles as he landed, flipping out of a handstand, but that was expected with the ankle injury, and so nothing was said. The still rings were worse, his shoulders trembling, arms shaking against the strain of holding himself and the rings immobile. Silva said nothing, but his eyebrows dropped low on his forehead.

Fear slid into his chest and began to fester.

It didn’t get better. Even when his vault and parallel bar routines were perfect, even when he caught the horizontal bar by the pads of his fingertips every time, even when his floor routine was something straight out of a textbook, it was so well-executed. He’d slipped on the rings and that was all that mattered.

The dismount from the horizontal bar left him shaking violently, body rebelling against the exertion. He landed on the foam mat with a sharp crunch, the soft material buckling under his weight, ankles pinned together as if bound by rope. His balance wavered sharply. But he didn’t stumble, fighting the pull of gravity with every meager droplet of strength left in his core.

He stayed put. Stayed upright. Took a long, slow breath, the ceiling going unpleasantly grey over his head, his focus funneling down to a single, tiny point, sensation falling away from him like water sluicing over a smoothed stone. And he exhaled into it, welcoming the feeling of weakness rushing away from his shivering muscles.

* * *

Something tapped his face, a persistent smack, tingling over his skin, only mildly painful but enough to draw his attention away from- from what, exactly?

He blinked once, Illumi’s face blurred above him, the ceiling no longer grey and foggy but reeling with bright lights. The mat underneath him was cold on his exposed skin, and he shuddered without knowing why, feeling lightheaded. He was lying down? Probably for the best, he was shaking like mad.

“Kil, did you eat this morning?”

Ah, right. Gingerly, he sat up, the room swimming around him. Illumi’s cold hand pinched at the back of his neck. He’d passed out again, then.

“I was saving up for this evening.” Rubbing at his eyes only made the blur worse. Illumi heaved an annoyed sigh, and the low crinkle of a metallic wrapping ripping apart reached his ears. A granola bar was pressed into his hand, one of Illumi’s bland, high-fiber ones.

“Eat it. If you’ve been following the diet you’ll still have 550 calories left for dinner. Enough for the steak mother ordered.”

Killua did as he was told, head swimming, the food tasteless on his tongue, trying to avoid his father’s piercing gaze. But then Illumi dragged him to his feet, one arm hooked under his shoulders. Silva’s gaze was somewhat displeased, but not irreparably so. It was a salvageable situation.

“The rings were the only problem. Practice until you get it right, then come in for dinner. If you pass out again, take a ten-minute break and call Dr. Kiriko in. I will be watching the college rugby championships in my study if you finish to Illumi’s satisfaction early.”

Killua shrugged his brother off, trying to quell the violent trembling of his limbs with some success. Just practice the rings until he got it right. His father was being generous. It was kinder than previous punishments, anyway.

“Yes father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (remember how Killua got the nickname "Painthead"? Yeah.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha i died for a bit. moving sucks. Anyhow! Onward!

With Killua’s return to regular weekend practices, the time that Killua and Gon had to see each other dwindled, and the semester began to blur, moving forward at a dizzying speed. Another month slid by, with only enough time to see Gon in classes and on the occasional Friday afternoon for a cup of coffee under Palm’s watchful eyes. It was drudgery – his business major was the dullest thing on earth, with each class putting him closer and closer to falling asleep entirely.

The bright spots with Gon – and the rugby team, sometimes – were the only moments he had to look forward to in the entire semester. But the coffee dates were getting dull. Repetitive. And Gon was getting increasingly curious about his tight schedule on weekends, uncomfortably curious. It was getting to the point that Killua was considering throwing a dismount just to crack an ankle again, even if it was just to alleviate suspicion. But with Worlds coming up, he couldn’t afford such a misstep. Something like that would almost certainly be blamed on him, even if Illumi didn’t guess at his intention, and he’d have a hell of a time of it trying to make up for one single mishap.

But junior year was going to be over before he could even breathe at this rate, and he still hadn’t worked up the courage to actually. Kiss Gon.

The thought made him stiffen, made his entire body tense up, and Gon, who was lying on top of his bed, kicking his feet against the blue comforter, looked up at the slight motion.

“You okay over there?”

Killua glared down at the thumbnail sketches spread out around him, biting his lip. Gon’s sketches were beautiful, but he was still cropping the edges too close, zooming in too far on the bouquet they’d been assigned to partner-paint for their class project. It was an interesting project for sure, and Killua was increasingly convinced that Wing had only come up with it because of the art-swap trends swirling around social media over the past year or so.

“Your compositions are all off – they’re all cut really close,” he sighed, riffling through the collection of sketches he had to pick and choose from and eventually selecting three. He stood up, hopping off the barstool at his single kitchen counter, and wandered over to the bed, where Gon sprawled with his thumbnails in neat little piles on the comforter. Gon scooted over a bit as he flopped down next to the rugby forward, barely making the mattress dip underneath his weight, then threw a loose arm over his back. Killua shot him a dry look, setting the three thumbnails down in front of his partner.

“See, these three are your best ones, but they’re still zoomed in too far for the 360 bouquet project – there’s not enough of the main body of the sunflowers in there- Gon?”

Gon had rolled onto his side, body pressed flush against Killua’s still, his arm firmly grasping the back of Killua’s shoulderblades to prevent him from escaping. The freckles across the bridge of Gon’s nose winked at him, honey eyes locked onto his lips. Suddenly, Killua couldn’t breathe, going limp in Gon’s grasp, holding perfectly still as Gon’s free hand came up to cup his cheek.

Gentle. Gon’s hands were rough with callouses, much like his own, but they were so gentle, tracing his facial features with deliberate slowness, pausing in the divets beneath his cheekbones and sliding back to ruffle his hair.

“I…Killua, I know you’re busy. But I really do like you. A lot,” Gon started, his voice very thick. It sounded like he was trying to talk around a big mouthful of food or water. “I want to see you more often.”

Gon’s body was soft against his, firm muscle cushioned by healthy fat, enough for Killua to pinch in some places, and he slowly let himself relax into the touch. It was warm, with Gon. It was safe – like napping in the sunshine. Like painting in Wing’s class.

“…I like you a lot too, Gon. I just-”

How did he explain it? Explain his father, explain Illumi, explain how rigorous his schedule was, how inflexible? Gon’s hazel glance shimmered with some nameless hurt.

“You just?”

Killua tried to swallow the lump in his throat, heart trying to crawl down into his stomach.

“I want to see you more often too. But. I- I can’t. I just…have a lot going on at home.”

For the first time, there was a strange spark in Gon’s eyes, his lips pulling back in what seemed like a grimace, tension carved along the line of his jaw. It was an expression that made confusion swirl around the inside of Killua’s skull, an unreadable expression except for the displeasure etched into worry lines along the curve of Gon’s mouth.

“What kind of things do you do at home, Killua? You’re always worried about your family for some reason.”

Killua felt his pulse quicken in his throat, but before he could answer the shitty phone in his pocket chimed, a lighthearted ringtone sparkling into the heavy silence.

Alluka.

“I, ah- Well, my sister’s on the phone. She might be able to explain it better than I can…?”

Gon’s forehead smoothed out, a hint of suspicion still lingering around the edges of his face. But he didn’t push, starting to rub tiny circles into Killua’s back, right between his shoulderblades. It was a warm touch.

A kind one.

“Yeah, okay. Go ahead and answer it. I haven’t met your sister yet anyway.”

* * *

It was almost comical, how quickly the color returned to Killua’s face after Gon dropped the subject of his family and the weekends he spent at his family’s house. Almost comical. But it hinted at something that had Gon’s stomach turning, and had been causing it to turn since that first game of pickup rugby, when Killua had frozen in front of him, turning pale and quiet once he’d realized how close they were.

He’d been seeing tiny hints of it ever since – in Killua’s closed smile, the way he quickly diverted attention from any discussion of family members. In the sincere, almost yearning attention that Killua gave him during class and during their scarce coffee dates. In the sheer strength of the aversion Killua had seemed to have to picking up his phone or answering texts.

But only at the rugby game had it really sunk in, only when Killua had mock tackled him and lay on top of him with that wild, free grin.

He was…unnervingly light. Killua wasn’t short, and he wasn’t a stick either – the man had some serious muscle, and his shoulders were by far more defined than Gon’s, his back hard and strong. It was unbearable, actually, how toned and built he was – some days Gon legitimately found himself drooling at the thought of Killua’s back. But he was light. Far lighter than his height or musculature would suggest. Light to the point that Gon had been shocked when the man had been easily able to bowl him over.

And Gon had yet to see anything more substantial than cheese sticks and lettuce in Killua’s fridge, with maybe a spare protein bar in a cupboard. Could he not afford food? Or was he on a full meal plan to the shitty college cafeterias, despite the closest dining hall being at least a 15 minute walk away, and just didn’t bother eating anything else? That seemed unreasonable – and Gon hadn’t seen Killua in there even once.

Something wasn’t right. And Gon was absolutely certain that the only way to fix it would be to drag Killua away from whatever home situation was happening.

As Killua fiddled with his phone, Gon rolled onto his front again, crushing Killua’s right side under his weight just as the other man pulled up a video call with a smiling, dark-haired girl. She was their age, it seemed, or just a little younger, dressed in a loose pink sweatshirt and a pair of comfy sweatpants, dark hair piled on top of her head. Killua batted at his face irritably, holding the phone with his free hand.

_“Oh, Killua! Who’s the boy?”_

The girl’s whole expression lit up, her eyes wide at the sight of two people on her screen. Killua snarled in resignation, still trapped under Gon’s weight, then gestured back, his fingers brushing over Gon’s cheek.

“This loon is Gon - he’s my partner for an art project. Gon, this is my sister and current frenemy, Alluka. She’s a pre-med student on a full scholarship to Yorknew University.”

_Yorknew!_

Gon’s jaw dropped appropriately, the pride evident in Killua’s voice making perfect sense.

“Yorknew? That’s the best medical school in the _country_ , if not the world.” Alluka started turning pink on the screen, her blue eyes starry against the steadily rising blush. “That’s incredible!”

_“It’s not nearly as impressive as sweeping for gold at Worlds for two years in a row, I’d think,”_ Alluka said then, her eyebrows dropping low on her forehead. _“Now, really, who are you? My brother doesn’t let random schoolmates on his bed, no matter what the situation is.”_

“Alluka!”

Gon’s head was spinning rapidly, trying to take in the information, his face heating up. Steam was bound to be leaking from his ears shortly, if it wasn’t already.

“Uh. Well. I asked him out…about two months ago? But what- _gold medals?_ ”

Killua’s entire body went rigid beneath him, the soft rise and fall of Killua’s chest against his own pausing. It was the same response that he had when he was discussing his family. Oh. Were they related?

Onscreen, Alluka’s expression dropped, worry suddenly passing across her face. Her blue eyes turned on Killua, a touch of reproach there.

_“…Killua. You can’t date someone for two months and not…explain Illumi. And father.”_

Explain? His family? Were things really that complicated? Maybe it was worse than the weird niggling feeling in his gut had hinted at. He put his head down, resting his chin in Killua’s mop of white hair, drawing Alluka’s attention to him. Killua growled low, trapped under his weight still. It was rather effective, holding him in one place like this, Gon thought absently.

“I think he was hoping you would explain it, actually. We were talking about why he can’t stick around on some weekends – I’ve barely seen him for anything more than a coffee date since his ankle healed up.” He explained. Killua’s stillness was still absolute, so he reached out and around Killua’s waist, gently digging in his fingers and wiggling. Killua yelped, startled out of whatever stupor he was in by the tickling, his white hair glinting as the unruly waves shifted across Gon’s vision. Alluka’s onscreen gaze narrowed.

_“Of course, he would be hoping that. Unfortunately, that’s his job. Has he at least mentioned that our last name is Zoldyck?”_

Gon blinked owlishly. Was that important somehow?

“Uh, yeah. First class we had together.”

Killua shifted beneath him then, sighing.

“I don’t know _how_ to explain Illumi, Alluka. To anyone.”

_“Well, I know how. I’ve_ known _how for a long time, but you don’t like it when I say he’s cruel and abusive.”_

Killua’s breath had gone faint again, his chest barely moving. It was a strange argument to be privy to, a strange way to find out that- what, that Killua’s family wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows? That much he’d been able to guess at, at least, but this sounded far deeper than he was expecting, and this was rather like being thrown off the deep end rather than being eased into a fucked-up home situation.

“He _was_ abusive, to _you_. He was an entire disgusting transphobe.” Killua said, frustrated. “The whole family was – well, not Milluki or Kalluto, I guess – the second you came out. But- it’s not the same for me. As long as I perform to standard and follow their rules, they don’t care what I do. You know that.”

Gon cleared his throat.

“Perform…for the gold medals?” he asked, trying to connect the puzzle pieces.

_“Killua’s won gold in every category at Worlds for men’s gymnastics two years in a row. And he’s been on the pedestal in every event since he was fifteen.”_ Alluka’s voice was flat, her expression pinched. _“And because he’s in college now, but Father wouldn’t let him compete in the college leagues, the only time he can practice is all weekend, every weekend. So that’s what he does.”_

Gymnastics?

And suddenly, it made sense.

“Wait- _Zoldyck_ Family? Like…the gymnastics dynasty? The family that has their name plastered to _every_ iteration of the Olympics?”

Killua and Alluka both turned to look at him. Two accusing blue gazes, both flat with disbelief, both pinned to his face. It was like facing the glacial blue of arctic ice from two directions, and he shrank away from their disbelief, hanging his head. There was only so much pretty he could take in one day, and two gorgeous siblings staring at him like an idiot was a bit more than he could handle.

“…I’ve been playing rugby for three years now, I’ve hit my head a few times, okay?”

Onscreen, Alluka giggled a little, some of the tension bleeding away from the silence, and next to him Killua let out a long, long breath, groaning. Gon buried his face in Killua’s white hair, hiding from them both.

“Anyway…now you know, I suppose,” Killua mumbled, sounding distinctly unhappy. “I’m not exactly fond of gymnastics, but my father and oldest brother are my coaches and competition managers and- uh. They’ve threatened to pull me out of school before, threatened to drop my college tuition if I act out – and I’m out of state, so it’s almost fifty thousand a year for me. So I can’t just…skip one weekend of practice. There’d be consequences, and I need a bachelor’s degree.”

Gon puffed his cheeks out against Killua’s scalp, feeling at once nervous and very put out. It was certainly a conundrum, a puzzle he wasn’t sure how to solve. On one hand, he wanted to spend more time with Killua – but whenever he was free, Killua had practice, and whenever Killua was free, he had rugby practice.

And from what it sounded like, Killua couldn’t just drop his sport, even if he wanted to. Gon’s brows furrowed at the thought. There was something very pointedly manipulative in that kind of threat – the threat of a full college tuition dropping on an unemployed student’s head. But at the same time – he didn’t really know how Killua could avoid it.

Unless…maybe he could fudge a little bit? Or maybe Coach Bisky could give Killua a scholarship – he’d certainly be a strong contender for one, if he had more practice…

“You should join the rugby team,” he whined, face still buried in Killua’s hair. “That way I can see you more often. Plus- we really could use a good wing. You were awesome the other day. Bisky might even be willing to give you a scholarship.”

Alluka’s staticky giggling got a little louder, and Killua’s back heaved as he sighed, the gentle movement under Gon’s torso warm, comfortingly close.

“Honestly, I would try, if Illumi and Father weren’t such a big problem,” he sighed. “I…I really loved playing rugby with you and the other guys. I haven’t felt that kind of excitement in a long, long time. Maybe even since I was just starting out with gymnastics. But as long as I don’t have any weekend downtime, there’s not too much I can do.”

It was quite the problem, wasn’t it? Gon sighed, thinking hard. But it really didn’t seem like there was a way around the issue of Killua’s strict dad and annoying brother, not without sliding some serious shenanigans under the radar. And then, he paused, looking up at Alluka on the screen.

“Alluka – do you think your dad and brother would let Killua practice at school if he had access to a proper gym?”

The girl onscreen blinked owlishly, then nodded hesitantly, her dark hair bobbing on top of her head. She leaned back in her chair, arcing her back in a catlike stretch.

_“Oh, for sure. They prefer to control his life from afar as it is – letting him practice at school would mean he’d probably wouldn’t need nearly as much in-person training. There’d probably be some conditions, of course, but I’m sure he could manage to get them to agree.”_

The smile that twitched at the corners of his mouth was uncontrollable, but despite the confusion on Alluka’s pixelated face and the wavering confusion reflected in the oceanic eyes of the man under him, he couldn’t help laughing. Perhaps there was something he could do after all.

“I might have an idea.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I'm being mean to Killua again~ Ty Cia for giving this a once-over!!!

That idea ended up involving Meruem – one of the two starting props on the rugby team, and someone Gon had been up-close and personal with all too often due to this – and his girlfriend, Komugi. So, of course, the best time to bring it up was at yet another pickup game, this time held on the rugby pitch, much to the recreational team’s excitement. And even better, Bisky had graciously agreed to watch the scrimmage and help out with some of the newer players.

Gon, of course, was hoping that her eye would be drawn to Killua in particular. He’d managed to coax the other man to join their pickup game of rugby on Sunday evening, after Killua had made the drive back to his apartment, and he was counting on Bisky to see Killua’s potential for what it was.

Of course, he also had his reasons for wanting his – boyfriend? Whoa, that sounded nice – to finagle a way to join the rugby team. Namely that he would like to spend more time with the snappish man. But he also rather thought that Bisky might pick up on the odd feeling that surrounded discussions of Killua’s family. She was intensely perceptive – she often could tell what was wrong with one of her players’ mindsets before they even knew their attitude was affecting their game. Heaven knows she’d helped him out before, snapping him out of a funk when it was killing his performance.

Hopefully she’d be willing to play a part in his…plan? Idea? Nebulous hope? Whatever it was.

He jogged over to Meruem and Bisky before the makeshift game started, waving cheerfully at them, a quick text from Killua still lingering on his phone screen. The gymnast had stopped at his apartment to change clothes a little bit ago, so he should be arriving shortly.

“Coach! Meruem! I have a question for you,” he chirped out, grinning at them both. Bisky stared down her long nose at him, her muscular jaw twitching in what Gon knew was the beginning of a smile. She always smiled around him, now matter how hard she tried to hide it. Apparently he had that effect on people.

“Oh, do you now, you insolent twerp?” she snapped her fingers at him. “Twenty pushups buys you one question for me.”

“Aw, Bisky!”

“I said _drop_ , Freecs!”

Gon pouted at her, then lifted his nose in the air and turned to Meruem, who was watching blankly, violet eyes blinking at their antics.

“Fine, I’ll ask Meruem first,” he said, pretending to sigh, and turned to his teammate with a grin. “Sorry to ask – but Komugi manages the girls’ gymnastics team, right?”

Meruem said nothing for a long minute, then crossed burly arms over his chest, a green fringe of hair falling into his eyes.

“Yeah, she does. Pitou’s the gymnastics team captain, after all – they’re good friends. Why are you asking?”

Gon took a deep breath.

“Theoretically speaking – how simple would it be to get a spare key to the gymnastics team’s gym?”

Meruem’s eyes narrowed even further, hostility oozing off him like a thick sludge. Gon fought back a shiver. He could – maybe, with a lot of luck and rage – take Meruem in a fight. But the other man had a nasty reputation for taking people apart when he fought them, and very few people had ever walked away from a fight he’d started. Making him angry on purpose was a stupid move, and everyone knew it. But he was also fairly hard to wind up – thankfully so. And as Meruem’s expression curdled, Gon tried hard to stay relaxed.

“It depends on why you’re asking, Freecs. And for the record, Komugi is my girlfriend, and Pitou is not interested in dating at the moment, as they’re still fighting with the college association about gender classification, so-”

“Whoa, hold up, I’m dating Killua right now,” Gon waved his hands frantically, trying to head off the storm in Meruem’s eyes with a casual denial. The tall boy was always incredibly fierce when it came to others making moves on his small squad of friends – it was the quickest way around his usually sluggish temper. But the reminder of the white-haired man seemed to work to defuse the situation, the metaphorical lightbulb going off in Meruem’s head.

“Killua Zoldyck, the gold medalist?” Meruem cocked an eyebrow. “And here I thought you’d only gone on four dates. What does an Olympic-level gymnast need with a college gym?”

His tongue caught suddenly, unsure of how to phrase the question simmering on his tongue, of how to explain a situation he didn’t even understand. And the pause caught attention. Meruem’s expression twisted, a mix of unsettled confusion and suspicion creeping up his cheekbones. Gon could feel the bubbles of anxiety popping in his stomach.

Bisky’s hand landed on his shoulder then, spinning him halfway to face her, her magenta glare soft with concern. But no suspicion – only a poorly concealed worry. She’d caught on, then, equated his hesitation with anxiety rather than reluctance. Thank god.

“Alright. What’s going on? Tell us straight, Gon.”

It was a big accusation to make. A huge one. But…it was niggling at his mind, and this could be the only way to ease Killua out of that oppressive schedule. He was absolutely certain that something was going on. But he didn’t have any proof. Not yet.

Not yet, he’d said. Like having proof would be a good thing, somehow. Rather, he should hope that his hunch was wrong, that his gut instinct was screaming at him incorrectly.

But that didn’t do anything to quell the fear sliding uneasily around his stomach.

“It’s…mostly a hunch. But something isn’t right with Killua and his family. He never talks about them and when I ask he just. Freezes up. Changes the subject. So I…I was kind of hoping he could have a key to the gym here, so he could practice during the week instead of having to drive home and practice all weekend. Every weekend. And…” Gon’s voice trailed off, the idea in his head hard to phrase out without sounding overly demanding.

Meruem’s gaze was clear of hostility now, his head cocked to the side, and he seemed to be considering the proposal. Bisky’s hand on Gon’s shoulder tightened.

“And your question for me?” She prompted, her pink tracksuit rustling as she shifted, her weight sliding to one leg. Gon swallowed. And then it all came tumbling out.

“I want him to join the rugby team,” he stumbled out. “You saw him at the pickup game a bit ago, Meruem – he’s fast as hell, and he hits hard. He was incredible playing wing. But he- he’d need something to protect him. He told me his dad uses the threat of refusing to pay tuition to keep him from acting up, so there’d have to be-”

Bisky’s hand clapped over his mouth without warning, her gaze flashing, but though there was annoyance there, the overwhelming emotion reflected in that magenta glare was understanding.

“I don’t give scholarships out like candy, Gon,” she warned. “I can’t give him anything if he doesn’t try out for the team, and I can’t give him anything if he’s not as good as you’re making him out to be.”

But it wasn’t a no. Gon heaved a huge sigh of relief and smiled unsteadily against Bisky’s rough hand, nodding. And she let go, her eyebrows knitting together.

“You’ve got the summer to make him good, since he won’t be able to play this season. Then have him show up to tryouts in August. Understand?”

Gon nodded again. Then Bisky looked at Meruem, sighing a bit. But her eyebrows had dipped low on her forehead, a muscle in her jaw flexing. Did she believe him, then? Believe that his hunch wasn’t wrong, that something else was going on that Killua was hiding? Or maybe she would wait and see – wait to see if she picked up on the same odd…unease that seemed to surround Killua. Her jaw was set, gaze hard and locked on the green-headed man across from her.

“Check with your girlfriend and ask if I can have a spare key to their gym. I think some of my players may need some flexibility training.”

Meruem closed his eyes wordlessly and dipped his head. Bisky turned to Gon again as his phone buzzed in his hand, Killua’s name lighting up on his screen.

“He’ll have to speak to the gymnastics coaches himself, Gon. But I can get him a key.”

Gon let out a huge breath, sagging in relief.

“Oh, thank god. Thanks so much, Coach.”

She grinned at him.

“You owe me a hundred pushups for this.”

“Aah, no! Can I do them after the pickup game? Killua just got here and I should go meet him.”

Two pairs of eyes gazed at him, understanding and mirth starting to prickle through. Bisky in particular looked like she was fighting back a smile.

“Well. I’d never thought I’d see the day but- seems like you’re pretty whipped, hm?”

Gon felt a heavy rush of heat flood his face and he recoiled from the accusation on reflex. Bisky’s grin grew wider, eager to find another opportunity to tease him. And then he thought about it. And some strange little piece inside his chest softened, leaving a gentle warmth in his place.

“…I guess I am?”

The mirth on Bisky’s face fizzled, shock bubbling through the veneer of glee for a solid minute. And then she composed herself, trading shock for the vaguest hint of pride, her hands set firmly on her hips.

“Alright then. Go get your boy. And you’d better introduce him to me if you want me to let even a single professional team get a hold of your highlight reel,” she sighed. Gon let out a loud whoop, giddy with the prospect of the potential solution to Killua’s problem and the fact that Bisky was giving way under the influence of Killua’s presence.

“Thanks, Meruem! Thanks, Biskyyyyyyy!” he yelled, sprinting across the field where the other players were warming up, his phone in his hand still. The glare of headlights swirling around the parking lot beckoned him.

Grass crunched under his cleats with satisfying rhythm, eventually shifting to the grind of mulch and then, as he slowed, the soft _clop clop_ of cleats on concrete. He trotted towards the rows of cars, glancing around for Killua’s tiny grey sedan. The headlights went dark, somewhere at the edge of the lot, leaving only the orange glow of the streetlights overhead and the pale, washed-out afterglow from the brightly-lit stadium.

But the golden cast of old light painting Killua’s pale hair and fair skin left him looking incredibly handsome, and it hid the blush creeping up Gon’s neck equally well.

“Killua! You made it!”

He charged forward, wrapping his arms around the other man’s strong shoulders and slamming their chests together. Killua let out a hard huff of air, the sudden bear hug clearly unexpected. But after a moment, his arms came up as well, catching low around Gon’s waist in a gentle embrace, and he set his chin on Gon’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Killua hummed, exhaling into Gon’s shirt. “You smell like dirt already, gross.”

Gon pulled back, faking a gasp of indignation, and he touched the back of his hand to his forehead, pretending to swoon dramatically.

“Oh, I’ve been wounded to the quick! You cut deep, Killua.”

Killua snorted at him, then reached out and flicked the center of his forehead, smiling faintly. Gon yelped, rubbing at the spot Killua had flicked, and pouted. But Killua just laughed faintly, the brief lull allowing Gon to get a good look at him. And slowly, the fake pout slid into something a little more real, and a little more worried.

“…Are you okay to play? You look exhausted,” he mumbled, reaching out and cupping half of Killua’s thin face in his hand. The skin beneath his palm was soft but covered in goosebumps, vaguely sweaty and uncomfortably cool to the touch. Blue eyes flickered at him, like tiny gas flames on an old, dying stovetop.

“I’m okay, Gon. I can handle a quick pickup game,” Killua sighed, leaning into Gon’s touch. “I might not be at my best though – practice…sucked.”

Oh, right. Gon swept a quick glance up and down Killua’s body, checking him over despite not knowing what he was looking for. He’d clearly changed into comfortable clothes before showing up, and the spare mouthguard Gon had given him was in his hand. For all intents and purposes, he seemed ready to go, ready to play.

Killua’s pale hand tweaked his nose then, strong callouses pinching hard on the cartilage.

“Eyes on my face, you,” he snarked. Gon went red, feeling steam explode from his ears, and Killua burst into laughter, grinning widely in the golden streetlights.

“I wasn’t _looking_ \- I mean- not like _that_. Ugh, this is isn’t funny unless _I’m_ making the joke.”

Killua’s laughter died off, but the grin on his face didn’t, so Gon just glared at him huffing irritably.

“And here I went to the trouble of putting us on the same team, and you go and betray me like this, slighting my honor with your _innuendos_. I’m defecting.”

“As I seem to recall, you’ve joked about getting into my pants more than once,” Killua shot back dryly, moving towards the stadium at Gon’s elbow. The asphalt still clicked under Gon’s cleats, but the echoes weren’t nearly as prominent now. “I’m starting to think you’re only inviting me to play rugby because you want a societally inoffensive way to – ahem - _tackle me_ in public.”

Gon giggled at the implication, then shot Killua a heated glance, smirking as if that was the entirety of his motivation.

“Well, I mean, it works-”

“There are easier ways to straddle me, I promise.”

“ _Killuaaaaaa_ , you can’t _say_ things like that to me right now! Now I’m going to be thinking about that all game-”

They stepped up onto the concrete curb, Gon’s hand gently sliding into Killua’s and squeezing. Killua didn’t let go, continuing the banter without breaking stride.

“Well now, that seems like a _you_ problem,” Killua waved his free hand dismissively, squinting a bit as he stepped into the bright stadium lights overhead. He was pale, skin bleached to nothing by the strong white light, until he almost seemed to glow. Again, Gon was struck by how handsome this man was. By how blue his eyes were. By how smug his grin was. By how absolutely blinding his unruly white waves were in the lights.

Gon swallowed hard, knowing and not caring in the slightest that he was staring.

“It could be a ‘you problem’ too. If you wanted.”

Fire flamed in Killua’s eyes, the shine there flickering like the deep sapphire flame of burning propane, explosive and hot. But he was smirking faintly, the barest hint of pink gracing his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. His fingers shifted, his palm sliding against Gon’s with reassuring roughness.

“I told you, wine and dine me first, then _maybe_ I’ll consider it.”

They made their way over to the team, hand in hand, much to the assembled players’ delight. Ikalgo and Zushi were so gleeful about the occurrence that they didn’t shut up about it for a solid ten minutes, delaying the start of the pickup game and earning themselves two solid tackles from an irate Killua. That drew more laughs – Ikalgo went down hard enough that even Bisky heard the loud “Ugff!” as the wind was knocked out of him, and she was on the sidelines with a shiny whistle in hand, several meters from the cluster of players hovering in the approximate center of the field.

But then Knuckle, who was captaining their makeshift team this time, gave everyone their positions, and the game started.

For a while, the teams were at a stalemate. The newer, more inexperienced players were still learning, after all, so a lot of the time was devoted to redoing and correcting tackling posture, correcting the fighting-tackles called “rucks” so the newbies weren’t trampling the person who’d been tackled in their mad rush for the ball, and teaching the newbie players how to properly position themselves for a scrum – which was tricky, as many people were still highly confused by how that knot of forward players was supposed to push as a unit.

Gon kept his eye on Killua the whole time, watching that mop of white hair bob across the field. He was doing well. Very well. Every time he tackled someone, his shoulders surged, back rippling under his shirt. Oof. Gon needed to stop watching that, or he’d have a _problem_. A problem that would be _very_ visible under his rugby shorts. But it was mesmerizing…

Okay, he actually needed to stop drooling, or he’d get flattened.

After about 30 minutes of the gentle teaching and correction, they were thankfully allowed to start playing.

It was only two-hand touch rugby, meaning that Gon wasn’t quite allowed to steamroller over the bite-size newbie playing his position as the hooker of the opposing team, but he certainly did his best to shove the others backwards. And as he smacked both hands straight into Hanzo’s shoulders again, he growled, driving forward, thighs burning from the strain of pushing against his teammate. Hanzo yelled in his face, then harrumphed, and went to ground, folding his body into the U-shape that they’d been teaching the newbies, shoving the ball back to his teammates, and covering his head.

The tiny newbie was the first to the ruck, and Gon slowed down for him, letting him adjust his rucking position to be correct, carefully locking shoulders over the pouting Hanzo. Then, when he was sure the new kid was set, he put the pressure on.

Gon barely registered using any force at all, and then the smaller man was sliding backward, grunting with the strain of keeping his feet planted on the grass. He had spirit, that was for sure. But he definitely wasn’t forward-material – he didn’t have the strength.

…well, not that Gon was easy to drive off. He was one of the team’s best players for a reason, and their team WAS top of the league again. Not many players had the national rugby team watching their junior-year highlight reel, after all.

Behind him, Ikalgo grabbed the ball from where Hanzo had pushed it, howling through his mouthguard, his face redder than the mop of rusty curls on his head. And as soon as the ball was out, Gon broke from the ruck, detangling himself from the tiny man he’d shoved off so easily, and ducked back to join a pod of forward players. Somewhere behind him, deep in the left-rear of the field behind the forward pods, a flicker of white. Killua had been placed as a wing again, this time on the left next to the forwards.

To his right, Zushi yelled, charging straight into a pocket of players on the other team, Uvo and Shalnark following close behind him in a tight v-shape. But he wasn’t going to break through – Gon could see that much easily. So he started running, hands outstretched, the two newbies behind him trailing uncertainly.

“Zushi, pop it!”

The brunette man half-turned at the sound of his voice, and as Gon drew level with him on the field he snapped the ball out, tossing it just out of Youpi’s grasp. Gon seized it with a loud whoop and started sprinting, holding the ball close as he darted through the newbies to face Meruem, who was filling in as the other team’s temporary fullback, sneering around his green mouthguard. The grass rippled under Gon’s cleats, crunching. And then there was a loud roar from his right, Franklin bearing down on his rear, Meruem closing in from in front. The two newbies supposed to be trailing had been left in the dust, confused by the sudden sprint.

And then he heard a smirking voice from deep on his left and the unmistakable _swiff swiff swiff_ of sneakers brushing over blades of the rough grass beneath them.

“Gon, 5 o’clock!”

He passed blindly, flicking the ball across his body from his hip, Meruem swerving with a loud curse at the last second, registering the pass a beat too late. And then in a flash of blue and white Killua was streaking past them on the left, bolting up the sideline so quickly it looked like he was flying. Gon watched, starstruck for a moment, the surge of Killua’s shoulders under his shirt reawakening that heat in his stomach. And then he yelped, shoving past the two that had tried to tackle him and chasing after Killua as Shoot sprinted across the field toward the gymnast-turned-left-wing.

Backup. He should be Killua’s backup. Just in case he was caught. But as Shoot closed in, Killua dodged to the inside, his footsteps stuttering across the grass less than a meter from the tryline, and dove.

He skidded across the painted white line, ball smacked securely to the earth with both hands. And _score_.

“ _Hell_ yeah!” Gon’s voice rang across the field, and he whooped, sprinting forward as Killua rolled onto his back, the lines of exhaustion curving down his cheeks warm with some kind of pride. Shoot sighed, plopping down on the grass beside Killua with a groan.

“Nice dodge,” he murmured, nodding as Gon approached and slowed down. “Freecs- we need another back after Pouf got suspended.”

Gon grinned, first at Shoot, then down at where Killua was spread-eagled on the ground, catching his breath.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m working on it. Right, Killua?”

Killua shot him a glare, blue gaze made brighter by the budding shadows under Killua’s eyes. Gon’s smile fell a bit – Killua really _did_ look tired. Maybe it would be helpful if he could convince the others to wrap up early?

“If by ‘working on it’ means you nag me to play your sport every waking second, then yes,” Killua snarked back, blinking against the bright stadium lights. He groaned, rubbing at his eyes, then rolled onto his stomach and carefully stood up. “Not, that it’s not fun…but…”

The train of thought cut off abruptly, Killua’s speech dropping into a low slur for a moment before petering out into nothing. Gon stood stricken, watching the color bleed from Killua’s face, watching his boyfriend’s blue eyes glaze and roll, closing inadvertently.

And then he crumpled, collapsing sideways like a limp strand of overcooked spaghetti.

Gon felt his heart burst into overdrive and he lunged forward, wrapping his hands around Killua’s chest before the other man could hit the ground. Killua’s head lolled back, his body loose and pliant, sagging against Gon’s grasp.

He’d fainted.

Carefully, struggling only a bit with Killua’s weight, Gon took a knee and lowered Killua to the ground slowly, feeling panic stir in his chest like a fluttering bird. Shoot jumped up with a low curse, helping to lay the gymnast out flat on his back. Killua didn’t move from there, unconscious in the grass.

“Bisky! Coach! We had one drop!”

The assembled other boys erupted into low murmurs of worry that prickled the back of Gon’s neck like needlepoint as Bisky sprinted from the sideline, a first-aid box tucked under her arm.

He reached out, cupping Killua’s cheek gently for a moment, then slid his hand down to the side of Killua’s neck, feeling beneath that chiseled chin for a pulse. It was there, faint and fluttering beneath Killua’s skin. It was quick, still rapid despite his collapse.

At his touch, Killua stirred slightly, color vaguely creeping back into his face, cheeks darkening from paper-white to something slightly pinker and pale-flesh toned. Bisky shoved Shoot out of the way as she knelt down next to them, her broad shoulders easily knocking him backward. Then she reached over, grabbing Killua’s ankles and propped his legs up on her knee. He stirred again, brow wrinkling.

“How long has it been?” she asked, her voice low and uncharacteristically soft. Gon blinked owlishly at her, stunned and confused.

“Huh?”

“Since he passed out. How long has it been?”

Gon’s mind whirred forward a few notches and he swallowed hard. Bisky was still looking at him, magenta gaze calm.

“I-I don’t know, maybe a minute? Or less?” he guessed, and Bisky nodded. Her gaze was serious, but not overly worried, and it was steadying to see. Then her gaze narrowed, to thin slits of pink, her blonde ponytail shifting to drape over her shoulder as she turned her head.

“This is your boy, yes? The Zoldyck?” Bisky asked, looking over Killua’s still body with a critical gaze. Gon nodded, then felt a lump of lead solidify in his stomach as her gaze darkened to something far more frightening than pretty pink. She leaned forward then, reaching out with one hand, and shook Killua’s shoulder gently.

“Hey kid. Up and at ‘em, come on,” she said, her voice low, and Killua’s forehead furrowed, shifting slightly. “Come on, eyes open now.”

The gentle shaking did the trick, it seemed. Killua blinked sluggishly, pupils constricting against the bright lights bearing down on him. He looked vaguely disoriented for a moment, confused by the situation. But he was awake. Gon felt the panic constricting his breathing loosen into more manageable worry. Bisky smiled at both of them, relief plain on her face.

“There you are,” she sighed, Killua’s feet still hooked over her knee. “You alright? Hit your head or anything? Any pain?”

Bleary eyes flickered owlishly at the questions, and then Killua shook himself into the clear world of comprehension. He hissed, hands flying up to press against his eye sockets. He was visibly shaking, Gon realized, a flutter of that panicked concern creeping back into his gut.

“Fucking- yeah, I’m fine.” His voice was thick, choked off with some emotion Gon couldn’t quite place. Anger? Grief? “Nothing hurts. Sorry for worrying you.”

He pulled his legs back and off Bisky’s knee then, planting his heels on the ground and dropping an elbow to the grass, trying to sit up. Gon stared, flabbergasted by the blasé attitude. Without thinking, he grabbed Killua’s shoulder and pinned him on his back.

“Gon, what the hell-”

“You _fainted_ , Killua. You were out for almost a minute, if not longer, and you’re still really pale,” he cut Killua off in midsentence, barely even registering the annoyed tone. Blue eyes narrowed to bleary slits, irritation simmering there, and Gon choked on his saliva at the sight of that sudden, cold anger directed at him. He tried to swallow around the lump in his throat.

“It scared me.”

Killua’s eyebrows pinched together and his bottom lip puffed out suddenly, a strange, confused pout marring his pallid face. Bisky sighed then rubbing her temples in exasperation.

“Gon, I do not _ever_ want to hear you lecturing someone else about medical stupidity, or do I have to remind you of the time you had to get your stomach pumped-”

“Coach, Ikalgo was _lying_ , I spat the turpentine _-”_

“-However. You do have a point here, in this specific instance,” she continued as if she’d never been interrupted, voice raising to drown out Gon’s protests with a steely glint in her eye. Killua flinched under that gaze, and she glared. “It is not, by any means, a sign of health to suddenly pass out with no explanation, and if you don’t have any documentation about underlying conditions to explain this, I’m going to have to take you to the hospital. These scrimmages are my events, after all, and you clearly need some kind of medical attention.”

Killua’s irritated expression smoothed out, eyes widening in shock. He swallowed audibly and, with a careful glance at Gon, sat up on the grass. The color bled from

“No hospitals,” he breathed. Bisky raised an eyebrow, and Gon blinked in surprise at the odd demand. “I- no, don’t.”

Bisky stared him down, unaffected by the plea.

“I can’t ignore when a medical emergency occurs at an event I’m running, Zoldyck,” she warned. “Not unless I have a damn good reason.”

Killua shifted uncomfortably, before finally sighing and dropping his head into his hands.

“I- this happens to me a lot,” he admitted finally, staring at the ground. “Especially after practices- gymnastics practices. My father has a personal physician for our family, and he’s aware of my condition- it’s just a blood sugar thing, honestly. I’m fine, I can still play.”

Bisky’s eyebrows shot into her hairline, but Killua didn’t make any move to meet her gaze. Gon looked at her, then back at Killua, then back at his coach, feeling hollow inside, like a useless tool just taking up space. Bisky’s hostile glare didn’t waver, boring holes through Killua’s head. And then she sighed.

“Do you _usually_ keep going after you pass out like this?” she asked, her tone oddly controlled. Gon blinked, staring. What kind of a question was _that?_ Who in their right mind would _keep exercising_ after-

“Oh yeah. It’s really not a big deal, I just- I’m really not supposed to put myself in these kinds of situations. Where I end up blacking out, that is,” Killua’s tone had relaxed considerably, apparently not catching the monotone Bisky had spoken in, or the pinched smoothness twitching at her jawline, the forced lack of a grimace clear. But then again- Killua didn’t know Bisky. Not yet.

“Well. If it’s truly a blood sugar issue, then I have a few spare protein bars. You’re going to eat them. And then- Gon? Drive your boy to the hospital – or if he protests again, at _least_ take him to the campus clinic. He’s not playing on my pitch for another second today.”

She turned back to the stricken Killua, blonde hair frazzled by her obvious upset and concern. There was a sternness in her face that Gon had only seen a few times before, like when Pouf had been caught harassing Komugi and some of the other members of various athletic teams. It was the steel of fury, controlled well but burning hot under the layers of stony control, with one odd caveat – this time, it wasn’t directed at anyone. Gon paused, wondering at that. Biksy was clearly angry. The vein pulsing in her temple said as much. But her expression was still calm, magenta gaze simmering on low heat.

“I don’t know _what_ your personal trainers are thinking, letting you keep going after fainting. If this is a recurring issue and you don’t have a diagnosis and some kind of medical waiver for what’s going on, you need to see an actual doctor, not the quack your dad seems to have hired.”

Gon nodded in understanding of his task after she finished, keeping mute in the face of Bisky’s magenta glare. Even the rest of the rugby team was uncharacteristically silent, staring wide-eyed at the scene unfolding before them.

But Killua didn’t seem to have any such qualms. His glare turned cold, jaw setting stubbornly – or, as stubbornly as he could. The grey cast to his skin hadn’t quite faded yet, and he was blinking rapidly, looking bleary-eyed despite his upset.

“How about you shut your mouth and quit talking shit about a situation you know _nothing_ about, hag?” he fired back. “My father- he knows what he’s doing. I haven’t gotten on the fucking Olympic pedestal with _incompetent_ _coaching_.”

Gon stiffened, trying to bite back a startled laugh – it would be funny if he wasn’t so stunned. Several of the boys on the team gasped, and in the background, Gon could hear Ikalgo starting to make noise. Bisky, however, didn’t react the way Gon had come to expect. There was no swift anger, no slightly-too-loud bonk on the head.

Only a blank stare, focused solely on Killua.

“Right. I know nothing of your situation. And I know nothing of your relationship with your personal trainers, or of any medical conditions that you may have which would explain this.” she said, snapping her fingers once. “But I _do_ know that unexplained, recurring fainting is a sign of a larger issue. I _do_ know that it’s _extremely_ out of the ordinary for a _trained professional_ to allow someone that has apparently fainted due to low blood sugar to _continue_ burning calories after the fact. I _do_ know that losing consciousness due to low blood sugar can and often does constitute a medical emergency. And on top of all of this, I know that _I_ am currently responsible for your wellbeing, since you’re at _my_ rugby clinic. You either eat my food and let Gon drive you to see a doctor, or I’m calling an ambulance, because what I _do_ know about this event warrants it. And unfortunately, your word alone isn’t enough to rescind that, not without a waiver from a licensed professional, which I can assume you don’t have on you at the moment, yes?”

Killua’s mouth closed with a sharp click, blue eyes slanted and dark with aimless upset. Then he took a deep breath and relaxed, all the fight sliding out of him in one single motion. Gon felt his stomach drop. Suddenly, Killua seemed so much smaller.

“…I’ll go to the campus clinic,” he said tonelessly, drawing his knees up to his chest and leaning forward, pressing his forehead to his thighs. “I’ll go.”

Bisky nodded brusquely, then dug around in the first aid kit and pulled out two chocolate protein bars and passed them both to Killua. He took them wordlessly, staring at the wrappings absently and turning them over to find the nutrition information on the back.

“Go ahead and eat those, kid,” Bisky said. Her voice was calmer now, the anger there smoothed back into plain concern. “You’re white as snow right now and it’s worrying. I need all my potential players in top shape, after all.”

Gon reached out when Killua didn’t move to unwrap the bars, peeling back the tacky wrappings and putting them back in Killua’s hands, with a hesitant smile. Killua just looked at him for a long moment, then at the unwrapped protein bars in his hands, still strangely numb. Then he laughed hollowly.

“Illumi’s going to kill me,” he murmured, and bit in.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Studying sucks T^T Pity them

The “fainting incident” was, more than anything, a point of contention for them both. Killua had been passive-aggressive the whole ride to the clinic, barely letting Dr. Paladiknight give him the most basic of examinations but complying wordlessly with the little he’d allow. Eventually, after a quick blood test, Dr. Paladiknight had simply given up on further pressing the prickly, uncooperative patient he had for more details about his personal doctor, and instead shoved him into a chair, given him a few pills, and stuck him with a glucose IV for an hour or so.

Apparently, Killua’s blood sugar had been “critically low” but his insulin count had been just fine – an odd combination, in Gon’s relatively inexperienced opinion. He’d thought blood sugar was a diabetes thing, which meant insulin problems, right? But no – something else was going on.

Killua’s stubbornness had led to the needle in his elbow rather than a plethora of sugary foods. Dr. Paladiknight had been tightlipped other than that, anyway – though he _had_ rather delicately recommended that Killua make an appointment with a certain Dr. S. Melody, who was apparently the psychologist in residence. Killua had just as delicately point-blank refused, then paid in cash and buried his face in Gon’s shoulder the whole ride back to their apartment complex.

Since then, every time Gon had brought it up, Killua had clammed up and looked away, giving Gon the cold shoulder until the conversation died. Even gentle coaxing had been met with silence. So Gon had not-so-tactfully dropped the subject. It wasn’t like arguing with Killua would change his mind, and the other man was beyond stubborn. Plus…his anger wasn’t hot, like Gon’s. It was frigid, full of silent threat.

Pushing him wouldn’t do anything but deepen the gap opening between them – and no matter how much it made Gon’s teeth grind to step back, he knew he had to wait. Forcing the issue would shut it down.

Talking about Killua’s fainting spell, or the psychologist recommendation, would have to be Killua’s decision.

So now, three weeks and three rugby clinics later, final exam season was in full swing. And Gon was panicking. Of course.

“Killua, _help meeeee-”_

Killua looked up from the stack of books and papers piled around his squashy chair, glaring with something like despair painted across his forehead, feet kicking aimlessly over the armrest. He still had a smear of oil paint across his forehead from finally finishing their final project for Professor Wing’s class, a smear of electric blue that Killua had insisted on. It was a good color on him, Gon thought absently.

“With _what_? You’re the bio major here, I don’t know jackshit about science other than that it’s stupid and I hate it. Kill it with fire.”

Gon gasped, clutching at his heart, and tried hard not to grin when Killua gave him a flat stare, lips twitching. That was a hidden smile, he knew it. So he swooned onto the couch with a exaggeratedly fake sob, drawing a strangled laugh out easily.

“Nooooooooooo! My boyfriend is _a flat-earther!”_ he wailed theatrically. Killua stuck out his tongue at Gon and blew a loud raspberry, rolling his eyes in exasperation at the drama and sudden hyperbole

“I’m only a flat-earther if it means I can push you over the edge of the world.” he deadpanned, returning his bloodshot gaze to the myriad charts and economic equations littering the papers he’d been staring at for the past too-many hours. Gon cracked a grin then.

“If it’s not a perfect tackle, I pull you over with me.”

Killua actually laughed at that, flapping the sleeve of his hoodie at Gon dismissively.

“Alright, deal. But- for real, what did you need help with? I’m up to my eyeballs in Econometrics studying. The exam’s gonna skin me alive and broil me in salt.”

Gon winced. Imagery. Not a good picture.

“Ow. Well- I need your help ordering pizza. Nothing quite so mentally involved. Not for now, at least.”

Killua paused then, the papers rustling quietly in his lap. Then he sighed, tucking his hands inside his sleeves, and leaned back in the chair.

“Uh. I don’t know what you’re asking of me, exactly.”

“What kind of pizza do you like, duh? I’m ordering four large pizzas, but I want something you’ll eat too.”

There was another sigh then, and more rustling papers as Killua once again buried his nose in a textbook.

“I’m good, but thanks for the offer.”

Gon felt shock cloud over his every conscious thought, all the material he’d crammed into his head instantly replaced with one terrifying thought.

“Do…do you not like _pizza?_ Killua, tell me it isn’t true.”

Killua looked up slowly, his expression deadpan behind his book, lips struggling not to flex into the grin Gon knew was hiding there.

“I never wanted you to find out this way,” he drawled, finally putting his books down in favor of staring directly at Gon, kicking his legs off the armrest of the chair and finally sitting up straight. “Gon…I’m pizzaphobic.”

Gon groaned, faking a soft sob, and puffed out his bottom lip in affected despair, pouting as hard as he possibly could. Killua’s teeth flashed white then, the grin stilling on his face, and some little part of Gon melted into a gooey puddle all over again. Killua’s smile was a terrible weapon against anyone with the slightest inkling of being attracted to men. Instant liquefaction of all coherent thought was a terrifying thing.

“I- That’s okay, I support you anyway,” Gon mumbled, staring. Killua’s cheeks slowly began to darken. “Do you want to get something else to eat, then? The pizza place I order from serves pasta and sandwiches too, and I _know_ you didn’t have lunch.”

Killua shook his head again, the blush brushed over his cheekbones paling to the usual faint peach of his skin tone, and he dropped his gaze back to the piles of study material littered around the carpet.

“Really, Gon. I’m okay.”

Gon’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“But you have to eat _something_?”

Killua shot him a warning look, blue gaze flat, and Gon felt a flicker of irritation curl around his chest. He was just trying to help, Christ. The weird defensive attitude that kept cropping up was…worrying. And beyond frustrating.

“I’ll eat when I’m hungry, I promise. I’m just not hungry,” Killua snapped. Then he paused, blinked twice, and groaned, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “Ugh, that- came out wrong. Sorry.”

Gon felt the irritation slide out of his chest, and he sighed, flopping backward into the couch cushions and throwing a textbook on the floor. It fell with a loud thud, a thunderclap in the silence.

“It’s alright, I just…I worry. That’s all.”

Killua went still. The smear of blue paint on his face wrinkled with his forehead, eyebrows rising in something like shock or panic. Then he laughed a little bit, looking directly at Gon, a wry smile on his face.

“I really did spook you when I passed out, huh?”

Gon didn’t really know what else to do but nod. Killua’s gaze softened somewhat, the wryness slowly fading into regret. Then he reached up, tugging on a stray lock of white hair absently and twisting it around his forefinger. It was like he didn’t know what to do with himself, with his hands.

“…Dr. Paladiknight said it was an iron deficiency,” he offered without warning, finally leaning forward. “Iron and glucose deficiency. So…fixable stuff. I told my dad what happened, and he said he’d keep a closer eye on everything. Okay? So, there’s no need to worry.”

It was a white lie, Gon knew. There was something else going on- there _had_ to be, right? Something was still dreadfully wrong. He just…knew it. Why else would Killua have been so panicked over going to the hospital? Or- or so blasé about the fact that he was apparently expected to practice gymnastics until he literally blacked out? And then continue after he woke up?

But he also knew that, in three weeks, this was the first time Killua had ever brought it up on his own.

“I’m going to worry anyway, because I don’t think that’s all there is to it,” Gon said, staring at the carpet so he wouldn’t see the expression on Killua’s face. “But I’m not going to push, so…different topic?”

The pure relief in Killua’s answering sigh was music to Gon’s ears and so he looked back up, intent only on putting the conversation behind them. Tension still strained the air; Gon glanced helplessly around for anything to cut it.

“Uh…what are you studying right now?”

It was weak, almost pathetic, but Killua took pity on him with a faint, wry smirk, then picked up the textbook he’d draped over the arm of the chair and tapped the battered cover. “Econometrics” was stamped on the dull grey background in bright red font.

“This bullshit, remember?” he proclaimed, tossing it onto the couch. “It’s actually awful. I hate my major.”

Gon nodded sagely- hating one’s major was by far the most relatable sentiment in every department but _maybe_ engineering. Those poor souls hated their entire college careers, not just their major.

“Bad teacher, bad subject, or Stupid Brain Syndrome?” Gon asked sympathetically, and Killua groaned, pulling the collar of his hoodie over his face for a moment and smearing the blue paint from his forehead onto the red cloth.

“All of the above,” he lamented. “Econometrics is going to hand me my ass on a platter.”

Gon nodded wisely, lips twitching.

“At least you don’t have enough of an ass for that class to serve you.”

“Freecs, I’m going to smother you, in 10…9…8…”

Gon leapt off the couch as Killua started counting, yelping and running towards his bedroom with a loud whoop. Killua yelled in response, bounding out of his chair and hurtling down the tiny hallway after his boyfriend, brandishing his Econometrics textbook at Gon like a sword.

Ikalgo stuck his head into the hallway as Killua slammed shoulder first into the door Gon was trying to close, his red hair tousled messily, eyes red-rimmed.

“OI, you two SHUT UP! Flirt under the goddamn sheets, not in the hallway, I’ve been studying since 2 am!”

Gon went red across the face, choking on his own saliva, and the moment of hesitation was all Killua needed to bodyslam the door open and plow into Gon’s stomach with a low roar. Shoulders surged underneath the red hoodie, cords rippling in Killua’s neck, the blush on Gon’s face intensifying sharply.

Then his calves hit the edge of his bed and he tumbled backward, papers flying, old tests with red marks scattering wildly, and Killua collapsed on top of him with a quick yelp, the mattress bobbing beneath them. Gon went still, frozen, Killua’s hands on either side of his head, Killua’s hips flush against the front of his jeans, legs flailing a bit from the sudden fall. He was acutely aware of every inch of Killua’s skin, every centimeter of Killua’s body lying on top of his own. On his bed. In his bedroom.

_Fucking-_

Killua’s eyebrows shot up then, twin crescents of pale hair rising into his hairline, and blue eyes went wide, pink slowly creeping up the sides of his neck.

“Um. Gon?” he started vaguely, trying not to move too much, but the grind of their pants was torturous enough and Gon tried not to cry of embarrassment.

“I- I’m _so_ sorry- oh my god,” the words came out rushed and stilted, entirely too disjointed to be worth understanding, but the flush on Killua’s face deepened, turning crimson in realization.

“I- no, I was- oh goddammit-”

And then Gon felt it, sliding against his hipbone, the scarlet stain on his boyfriend’s face far too much to comprehend with any kind of maturity. Oh. _Oh._

“…well. If you close the door, I’m down to uh. Take care of this?”

Killua stared down at him, then turned back to look at the door. Then turned back, blue eyes like a low flame, heat burning but controlled. Gon was mesmerized, carefully reaching up to cup Killua’s face in his hands, the heat of the blush scorching the callouses on his hands with soft fire. Above Killua the ceiling blurred out of focus, a hazy white blur that highlighted the sharp jaw and broad shoulders looming over him.

And then Killua laughed awkwardly, and the moment was broken.

“I- the _innuendo._ Gon, why- aahhhhh.”

But instead of drawing away, as Gon expected, Killua’s arms gave out and he dropped down, lying fully on top of Gon’s chest, his chin tucking neatly over Gon’s trapezius. Gon tried and failed to smother the silly titter of happiness in the back of his throat, reaching up to clasp his hands at the small of Killua’s back, the warmth of a heartbeat pulsing lightly against his palms. And then Killua sighed, lips brushing against the shell of Gon’s ear, his voice a soft mumble.

“Not yet…not yet, okay? I’ll just- borrow the bathroom.”

A huge sigh escaped, causing Killua to bob on his chest as he exhaled heavily, relief flooding him in place of the oxygen he lost.

“Of course, that’s okay. Even never is okay – cuddling is just as good in my opinion.”

That got him a snort of laughter in his ear, and then a soft sigh. Killua’s body was still light on top of him, the broad frame misrepresenting his slight weight. It was the strangest oxymoron. Gon swallowed hard, then tightened his hold on Killua’s midriff, holding on as tightly as he dared.

“The gymnastics coach and their manager let Coach Bisky have a key to their gym, by the way,” Gon said quietly. “For flexibility training needs. And she’s going to give me a copy. For you.”

Killua’s eyelashes fluttered against the side of his neck, a low hum of interest sounding from the catlike man sprawled on top of him. Perhaps the constant studying – and Killua’s stubborn insistence that he wasn’t hungry - really was taking a toll now.

“So you can practice here, remember? So you don’t have to go home as often.”

That caught Killua’s attention, and without warning he drew back, looming large over Gon again, hands snarling the bedcovers.

“You…you remembered that and- you’re giving me a copy?” Killua’s blue eyes shone with faint hope, his breath rattling like loose rocks. Gon smiled uncertainly, then reached up to trace the curve of Killua’s cheek and jaw with one light finger. The pulse under his fingertips fluttered nervously.

“…well. Um. I really do want you here so I can spend time with- Mmphf!”

Teeth clacked against his, Killua’s face dropping without any warning, and the gentle warmth of another’s breath sent heat flooding into his lungs. Killua’s eyes were closed tightly, his face brilliantly red, lips chapped and slightly prickly, and Gon stared blankly, frozen, brain melting inside his skull.

First kiss. Killua’s kiss. Their first kiss.

He reacted just as that chapped mouth pulled back a bit, seizing Killua’s face in his hands and sealing their lips together again, letting fire singe his veins and scorch his cheekbones. Killua made a muffled gasp of shock, the sound swallowed hungrily. And he relaxed, leaning back into it, running his tongue teasingly along Gon’s bottom lip for the briefest moment. The request was silent but accepted, and then Killua’s tongue was sliding behind his teeth, breaths mingling, calloused fingers gently threading through dark hair.

A kiss. A French kiss. Warm and soft and just the faintest bit prickly, clumsy in a way Gon hadn’t realized Killua was capable of.

If he felt any more emotion, he’d implode.

They broke apart after a breathless, instant eternity, smiling, heads spinning and silly. Gon could still taste the faint heat of Killua’s tongue, still feel the clumsy clack of teeth on teeth. But Killua was smiling so wide, his face so incredibly red but stained with the blush of pleasure and warmth rather than pure embarrassment.

“Thank you. God, thank you so much,” Killua breathed. “You have no idea what this means.”

Gon’s smile was bright, but he couldn’t manage to keep the melancholy out of his voice as Killua swooped in for a second kiss, words swallowed helplessly by Killua’s mouth.

“Oh…I think I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> (I'll do my best to respond to any comments!! But I apologize if it takes a while, I'm kinda flaky sometimes. ^_^')
> 
> for longer chats: try me on tumblr (@davidoodles) or on twitter/instagram/etc (@avtorsola)! my DMs are ALWAYS open for yelling about HxH


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